


Penance

by paperchimes



Series: Penance [Hunger Games Hiddlesworth] [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hunger Games AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperchimes/pseuds/paperchimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth, the two volunteer tributes that will make this year’s Hunger Games one of the most emotionally involving and heart-wrenching events in the history of Panem.<br/> <br/>"Look here, Brennet, look at this one. The determination, the <b>fire</b> in his eyes!” one of the commentators exclaimed in glee. “We haven’t even watched all of the reapings and already I want to bet my mother on this one!”</p>
<p>“I have to agree with you on that, Llowand, sans the part about betting my mother.”</p>
<p>“It appears that he’s stepping up for his brother.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the many awesome crossovers on tumblr and my overhyped fangirl mind. Enjoy. =)
> 
> Kudos also goes to Suzanne Collins for the fantastic, _fantastic_ series.
> 
> A great big thanks goes to [silverlynxcat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlynxcat), who has patiently and encouragingly helped me as I slowly recover from my three-year writer's block.  
> I love you, darling. <3 I would have never gotten this far without you.

I remain motionless and lax, with my limbs splayed out across the slippery bedsheets. ‘Satin’, the two of them had called it, the gruff mentor of a man and my shrill Capitol escort. It caught the overhead lights in translucent reflections, small pools of white forming on the forest green sheets. I felt stupid for finding it uncomfortable and instead longing for the rough cotton and lumpy mattress of my room back home. Throughout the hardships and changes that had plagued my District and the new lives many of us had been forced to adapt to, the itchy cushions stuffed with pine needles and the loosely woven cotton had provided familiar security. But now, as I sit on a train moving at unimaginable speeds, with coloured foods of which some I have never heard of before and with the weight of a thousand eyes still perched on my shoulders, there is nothing in this sterile place that brings the scent of home.

Absent-mindedly, the black screen built into one of the five walls of my bedroom lets out a blip and a tiny screech of electricity. As the outline of the Capitol insignia fuzzed into view, the familiar theme of the Hunger Games blared from invisible speakers, it didn’t take long for me to realise that me watching this was compulsory. I barely paid attention as Brennet Kanaky and Llowand Rocketdrift ramble excitedly of this year’s “fantastic” and “promising” tributes, the programme occasionally cutting back to recorded scenes and notable snippets of each District’s reaping. There is a tightness welling up beneath my diaphragm as I watch the teenagers of one of the Career Districts having a bit of an argument over who gets to volunteer this year. It makes me sick and only reminds me of how much of an idiot the whole of Panem would see me as for doing almost the same.

I let out a low grunt and one of the heavy, down-filled pillows was sent rocketing to the screen.

 _“Make sure you get back,”_ Liam’s familiar voice rang into my ears, commanding and filled with his trademark obstinance. _“You still need to teach me how to fix my axe.”_ Barely just starting to work in the forest, with so many questions and so many doubts, and the Capitol cruelly takes away one of his older brothers. I cannot afford to think about losing.

With my hands tightly clenched into palm-stinging fists, I watch the rest of the recap with renewed spirits. I have to win, for his sake. I will not make him think that I had just offered my life to the Capitol instead of his. I will not make him think I am merely sacrificing myself like cattle in a slaughterhouse, to be publicly executed for the whims and entertainment of bizarre people from a twisted city. No.

 _“I’m doing this so that our family can stay whole,”_ drunk with anxiety, those were the words I had murmured reassuringly into his ear. _“If you go, you might not come back. With me there, we’ll definitely be together again. And I’ll teach you everything I know.”_

Idiot. Idiot, idiot. _Idiot._

I push the condescending thoughts out of my mind, out of the way, filling the void instead with a fire so strong, it could burn down the whole Capitol twenty times over. I will win this. I will win this.

 _“I volunteer!”_ the crackled echo of my own voice filled the bedroom.

“Look here, Brennet, look at this one. The determination, the **fire** in his eyes!” one of the commentators exclaimed in glee. “We haven’t even watched all of the reapings and already I want to bet my mother on this one!” I look up to see the reaping of District 7 being played on the screen.

“I have to agree with you on that, Llowand, sans the part about betting my mother,” the voice of the other man played over as cameras zoom, blur and focus in on my face. Now I see the dangerous look I had in my eyes, as if they were embers burning with a feral and insatiable bloodlust. I hadn’t been conscious of the face I was making and looking at it now, it sent shivers cascading down my spine. The rain and mud matting down my hair and hardening my gaze didn’t quell the intensity at all. It felt so surreal. The only thing I was thinking of at the time was protecting Liam. A concerned brother taking the place of his little sibling. But the cameras didn’t show any of this, no; instead, they showed the flickering fierceness of a born killer burning through the rain and mist. I looked more like a Career than this year’s tributes from 2 and 4.

“It appears that he’s stepping up for his brother.”

“Probably doesn’t want him hogging the spotlight,” was the half-joking suggestion.

“Yeah, his brother looked promising but he’s a whole ‘nother story, this one.”

And they continued with the embarrassing commentary for a few more exchanges before reluctantly moving on to District 8. I was left stunned and lost for words. Well… so much of my plans of keeping a low profile. After what the hosts had said, sponsors would probably be lining up to get a better look at me from now on. It was a little hard for me to feel grateful, with the pressure of keeping up to expectations adding to the unbearable weight of homesickness in my gut, but I push on. For Liam’s sake.

\---

What I had assumed about the sponsors had unfortunately been proven true.

“Wow, fireball, we haven’t even reached the city yet and _already_ I’m getting calls,” Linwood, my mentor, smirked as I walked out of my room for breakfast the next morning. He laughed a singular, rough “ha”. “You might have a chance after all.”

“Thanks…” I mumbled, biting back the ‘I guess’ that was playing on the tip of my tongue. The perpetual sarcasm that seemed to be infused into every sentence that comes from his mouth made me question the authenticity of his comment. Nyssa casts me a pensive look as she covers her raisin bread with a spread the colour of toffee. The sweetness attacked my nostrils when I took the empty seat next to her.

“Good morning,” she greeted in the soft voice of hers. Her fragility was all the more stark now, with eyes cast downwards as she took small nibbles from her bread.

“Morning,” I returned. “What’s that?” I motioned to the silver pot of the brown spread.

“It’s called Keyar,” was the whisper. A lock of her wispy brown hair fell over her left eye. “It’s made from something called kokoenut.” Without me even asking, she tore off an inch of her bread from the end she hadn’t bitten from yet and held it out to me. Without hesitating, I accepted it and put it in my mouth, and made a bit of a face at how sweet, but pleasantly malty, but **sweet** it was.

“Do you like it?” I couldn’t help but ask and she gave a shrug of her shoulder. It looked bony and frail under the thin layer of her lacey sleeping gown.

 _It’s a tragedy that no one volunteered for her,_ the thought slipped into my head like a demon’s whisper. A complete contrast to most of the girls from District 7, Nyssa had grown up working with her mother at the paper-making huts while some other girls and all boys had ventured to try their luck at chopping wood. Despite everyone knowing how gentle and soft-spoken she was, no one had taken her place when her name was reaped. Worse of all, I could practically hear their poisonous thoughts as she stepped up to the stage: She was frail. Paper making wasn’t hard, anyone could do it. She wouldn’t be missed when she died. Her contribution was miniscule. If a lumberjack had been reaped, workload would have to be increased to compensate for their death.

When I looked back up to pour myself a cup of tea, I could see that Linwood seemed to be having the exact same thoughts.

And that made me angry; being reminded how insignificant and dispensable we truly were.

\---

“And this shall be your new home during your stay in the Capitol,” Brill, our escort, announced as she sauntered out of the elevator, the sapphires in her braid glimmering with each step she took. I had to squint through the sparkles, awkwardly waddling into the very middle of the large room decorated with reflective tables and brightly-coloured circular stools. Clusters of lights and stained glass hung from the ceilings like tracker jacker nests, dangling dangerously from thin wires over our heads. Somewhere, beyond an angled doorway, the carved end of a silver dining table could be seen.

“It’s… big.” Nyssa’s airy voice slipped into my ear. I gave a jolt to find her so close; I hadn’t heard her footsteps at all.

“Good call, willowtree,” Linwood’s gruff mumble drifted over from the left, earning him a glare from my part. “Enjoy it while you can.”

As if on cue, I saw her eyes divert downwards and her head hang low, the curtain of long, straight hair hiding her face from view and I can see clearly the origin of her nickname. “C’mon,” I whisper to her so that Linwood wouldn’t hear. “I think they have some paper over there.” And with that, I took her wrist in my hand and led her to what looked like a study room. It had a cube-shaped table with multiple drawers and I jerkily open each of them in the search for some familiarity. But the entire time, my vision was hazed over and my mind distant, all I could think of was how tiny and weak her pulse was.

\---

By the time Brill rapped on the open study room door to call us for dinner, the table was already filled with a myriad of curious paper shapes. Pink rabbits and blue pine cones, different flowers of every colour imaginable were scattered all over the desk. A few mockingjays had fallen to the floor and one of the baskets which had previously held the unfolded paper was filled to the brim with coloured stars. It would’ve been easier to count the ones that I had made: four haphazard and crumpled deer and one headless frog. The rest had been intricately and delicately folded by Nyssa, whose head was currently lowered in concentration as she finished the final touches on her wild orchid.

Brill had led out her characteristic squeal of delight at the sight and proceeded to dive her hand into the basket of stars, picking out a glittery blue one and examining it in awe. “This is wonderful, Nyssa! This is absolutely _beautiful_!” she showered her with compliments, to which Nyssa reacted to by shying away even further into her hair. Though, through her shield of hair, I could see the glimmer of a smile playing on her lips.

\---

“From tomorrow onwards, the two of you will be training with the other tributes,” Brill explained to us, glittering stars now dotting her hair, her new look finished off with a paper peacock headpiece perched on the crown of her head. “Now, Flint and I,” she motioned over to Linwood - who seemed more interested in covering his deer steak in black pepper sauce - and herself as she said this. “We’ve been thinking of your strategy.”

“Nyssa, you can relax,” Linwood muttered brusquely. “Pay attention to the survival table and maybe you’ll make it to the final twenty.”

“There are twenty-four tributes,” I spoke up bluntly, to which he replied with a sarcastic “so?”. The dining table shook and the glasses rattled, the hand that had been holding my fork having slammed down in frustration. “She has a chance too, you know!” I found myself finally losing my cool.

“ _Yeah_ , that’s what they all say,” he hissed at my face, the constant scowl on his face growing deeper, if that was even possible. “But you know what? Sponsors for one kid is hard enough as it is. No matter how you play it, fireball, it’s always the same: only one tribute makes it out as victor.” He shoveled a chunk of meat into his mouth, which he seemed to swallow without even chewing. “And unless that changes any time soon, any sponsor gift I work for is gonna be addressed to you, whether you like it or not.”

I felt the muscle under my right eye jerk as I shot a glare into those muddy green eyes of his. Nyssa simply retracted further into her chair, picking up individual peas with her fork and popping them one-by-one into her mouth. Though I hadn’t known her until today, I could see as plain as day, that no one had ever stood up to protect her.

And it was at that moment when I vowed that I would be the one keeping her safe.

Whether Linwood liked it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw the curly brown-blonde hair, the pale angled cheeks and the glassy grey eyes, clear as the sky on a cold afternoon. They reminded me of the rain, like how Nyssa reminded me of the willow, both of them sad yet happy in their own unique way. As he approached, I could see that he was only a bit shorter than me, which was an achievement to say the least. It was probably his only achievement, though. Everything else about him right down to the childish glimmer in his eyes, was, as far as the Games were concerned, _pitiful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has given me kudos, bookmarked my fic and commented on it, you all earn a long, love-filled hug. <3
> 
> Thank you so much for your support. ^0^ I hope you'll all continue to enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. <3

I found myself unable to sleep that night, the fuel of spite and anger towards Linwood feeding the blazing inferno in my chest. I didn't have a clock, but I knew it had been hours since I had said 'goodnight' to Nyssa.

The ceiling looked exactly the same from the last time I had glared at it; unnaturally smooth, without a single crack or discoloured patch. There were no green-tinged blots from when mould would have started to grow from weeks of rain and there was no rickety brown scaffolding that creaked whenever a strong wind blew. The pine-tree fragrance Brill had sprayed from a can earlier that evening - so that Nyssa and I would be more comfortable - was bland, flat and smelt nothing like District 7. I appreciated the sentiment but regardless, I found myself craving to be standing in The Clearing back home, amidst the towering trees and soft clover, where the sweet smell of earth and _real_ pine was always under your nose. I remembered harsh vibrations as I sawed through timber and the characteristic scent of paper being made. I longed for the familiar grainy feel of my axe, which my older brother Luke had helped me craft... before the fateful day he was reaped. 

Suddenly, there it was, an unbearably sharp pain in my chest, the sort of pain that wouldn't go away no matter how much you rubbed at it. The sting I felt was as vivid as the ache that had assaulted my family all those years ago. 

I watched as my vision was bathed in _blood_ and I was 14 again, back in our rickety house in District 7, gripping my knees as the camera panned in to my brother's fearful face. Then, everything had went red. I remembered that we had thought that it was our old television working up again and hastily began to scramble around the tiny shack of a living room to fix it. But when the Gamemakers switched cameras, we were left wishing that had been the case. 

Everything around me had collapsed; my mother was shrieking, Liam in stunned silence and my father lowered his head to hide his tears. But me, in all my naivety, continued to stare at the cracked screen, willing, _wishing_ for Luke to get up. 

I can still remember the second when the life had slowly drained from his eyes. The Capitol had made sure that none of Panem would miss the last, dying moments of one of the final five tributes. _Would mother be able to stand the pain if I died that way?_ the poisonous thought slipped into my mind. 

I then find myself hoping that Liam would turn away if that happened, so that he wouldn't be plagued with nightmares of Luke and I drenched in blood. Maybe it would be better if the Gamemakers decided to drown us this year. 

I glared up at the smooth ceiling for the upteenth time that night. 

_That's it_ , I thought. _I'm not getting any sleep._

\--- 

The elevator doors opened and almost immediately, the familiar feel of the strong rooftop winds brought a small smile to my lips. 

It was dry, scentless and full of noise, but it was bold and relentless, just like the sensation of being at the very top of an old pine. Memories of scaling rough bark and flimsy branches drifted into my mind, filled with Liam's distant laugh and the sounds of my own panting filling up my ears. As the years passed, he gradually started get faster than me at climbing, which I blamed on him being the "scrawny" and "light" little brother he was. He had then thrown a handful of pine needles at my face. 

I wasn't aware that I was smiling until a tiny rustle of concrete snapped me out of my daze; the recollections faded away, dousing me with the ice cold sensation of bitter self-awareness. 

"You know you're not allowed to be up here," a voice drifted from my far right. 

I snap my head in the direction to see a lean, long figure leaning against the metal railings. Defensively, I took half a step back, as if expecting the person to lunge at me. "Why are _you_ up here then?" I retaliated. 

"That's actually a very good question," he said, a small hint of mirth in his voice. I stand my ground, watching the shadow cautiously. This was another tribute, I thought warning bells going off in my head. I should turn around and walk away. "Probably the same reason you came up here as well," he mused. 

The bitter loneliness I had been wallowing in for the past few hours was probably getting to me because I found myself asking, "You can't sleep either?" 

"If you had the nightmare of a mentor I had, you'd be surprised the girl from my district could," he replied and I chuckled, knowing his feelings all too well. 

It was then the silhouette straightened up and stepped away from the edge. I froze but my eyes flittered over him, examining him curiously. For a moment, he just stood there, the nearby light of the rooftop garden not extending far enough to reveal his face. From the way we both stood so still, one studying the other, it felt as if Time had come to a halt. The elevator door was directly behind me, but the instinctive doubt of speaking to another tribute was beginning to waver. I watched as the wind whipped his loose clothes around his skinny frame, dangerously and carelessly revealing to me how much of a weakling he was. I was suddenly reminded of Nyssa, tall and slender with a pulse that was barely traceable, and I felt the fire leave my body, sympathy filling the void instead. 

He was walking towards me, gradually letting the light wash over him with each step he took. I saw the curly brown-blonde hair, the pale angled cheeks and the glassy grey eyes, clear as the sky on a cold afternoon. They reminded me of the rain, like how Nyssa reminded me of a willow, both of them sad yet happy in their own unique way. As he approached, I could see that he was only a bit shorter than me, which was an achievement to say the least. It was probably his only achievement. Everything else about him right down to the childish glimmer in his eyes, was, as far as the Games were concerned, pitiful. 

"What's your name?" I queried, seeing no harm in being friendly with him now. He's the type that dies in the initial bloodbath; tall and skinny was practically the same as having a sign that said 'Kill me. Kill me now.'. 

"Tom," he answered warmly, far too friendly than would have been permitted by his mentor. There was a small pause and a distant look filled those grey pools of his, as if he was considering whether there was any point in reavealing full name. A moment later, he looked back at me again. "Tom Hiddleston," he finished. 

The name didn't ring any bells. I scold myself for having not paid any attention to the reaping replay. All I could remember was storming off into the bathroom the moment they had switched to District 9, having been too eager to scald myself with hot water and drown away my frustrations. His reaping probably came around then, 9, 11... maybe 12? I pretended to recognise him, nodding knowingly, not wanting to insult someone so early on. I didn't need to make any enemies before the games start and who knows, maybe he could be an ally. 

"You're Chris, right?" his voice shook me out of my reverie. "From District 7?" 

Even more reason why I should feel guilty, I realise. The whole of Panem probably knows me as the angry kid who stole the attention away from any reaping that had the misfortune of being after mine. I can suddenly imagine the glaring eyes that were trained on me during the chariot ride through City Circle. I hadn't been paying much attention to that either, I had been more keen trying not to look like a total idiot in my ridiculous tree costume. 

"Uh, yeah, I am," I stumbled over my words, realising that I was taking too long to work up an answer. "Sorry," I muttered under my breath. 

"It's fine," he brushed off with a smile. "You looked... smashing as an oak." 

"Thanks," my uncertainty must've been obvious because he was laughing. It was unusual to say the least, like a chuckle that was too loud and a laugh that was too emotive, a cheerful "ehehe" that caused me to stare when I first heard it. I vaguely wondered whether everyone from his District laughed like this. Regardless, there was a certain odd charm to it. 

I was running out of things to say, but thankfully, Tom chose that exact moment to look towards the east, where the first few glimmers of orange sunlight was beginning to peek in between the tall Capitol buildings. 

"Damn," he whispered under his breath. "Felsic will _kill_ me if I fall asleep during training." 

"Linwood would probably have my head as well," I snorted, reminding him that we were in the same boat when it came to monster mentors. 

"Yeah, well, you're Chris, the fire from District 7, you can take a day or two off," he teased, not a hint of malice in his voice, tapping one of my arms. I find myself grinning like how I would if Liam had said it. "You probably made a few of the other tributes throw in the towel when they watched the replay." Though he meant it in good nature, I felt a tiny twang of guilt bud at my throat. 

"About that... sorry..." I mumble apologetically, wondering whether he was referring to himself as well. It was inevitable that he was going to get a little bullied in the training room, him being built the way he was. I bite my lower lip as I'm reminded that Nyssa was probably going to suffer the same fate. "I... hope you haven't given up yet." 

"I didn't," he smiled reassuringly, patting my shoulder like how one would do to a friend. Involuntarily, I feel myself being filled with a tender warmth at this motion. There was a certain charm that Tom Hiddleston possessed. "In fact, you made me all the more reassured." With that cryptic comment, he stepped past me and walked towards the elevator. 

Reassured? Was he referring to how the Careers would always wipe the floor with the lower Districts? Reassured that a District which was not 1, 2 and 4 would win and give hope to the others? I felt the overwhelming weight of a million eyes and a million hopes suddenly drop onto my shoulders. 

He really shouldn't be confident that I can win this. The Careers were probably trained to slit throats before they learned to speak. Just because I happened to look angry when the camera panned in to my face doesn't mean I have what it takes to win. 

But when I saw the cheerful twinkle in his eyes and the genuine aura of renewed hope in his smile, I couldn't help but want to believe it as well. 

"Don't fall asleep at training," he called to me as the doors began to close. 

"Speak for yourself," I returned and he laughed that odd little laugh of his. 

\--- 

Linwood was _not_ happy to see the bags under my eyes. 

"Look, fireball, it's nice to know that you're confident and all, but don't you think this is pushing it a little?" he snapped as he buttered his toast and proceeded to douse it in honey. From the corner of my eye, I could see the abhorred look on Brill's face as she gawked in disapproval at his table manners. I held back a snicker. Linwood saw this and seeming to think that I had been laughing at him, proceeded to stuff the sticky, sweet toast into his mouth. 

He was silent throughout the remainder of breakfast, which was both a blessing as well as a curse. I didn't have hear his insulting comments... but I didn't get any advice on how to handle training. 

It was when I had finished my porridge that I gave a sideways glance to Nyssa. My heart dropped when I saw the look of fear and uncertainty swimming in her eyes. 

I inwardly groaned. "Linwood..." I muttered between gritted teeth, not liking at all that my conscience was forcing me to apologise. 

He seemed to get the message. "You have today and tomorrow to train with the other tributes," I was taken aback at how quickly he had recovered from his silent tantrum. He must really want me to survive. _No_ , I thought. He must really want me to win. "Know your competition, watch them carefully. Then, on the third day, you'll show the Gamemakers what you're made of. That's the time you should start throwing axes and hauling heavy stuff, doing whatever impress them, fireball." He fell silent. I diverted my eyes back to Nyssa, urging him to continue. Linwood glared at me for a moment before roughly grabbing a sausage roll. "Willowtree, just..." he trailed off, taking a good look at her as if trying to find _something_ she could be remotely good at. "Try out everything and stick with what you like." 

Though the advice was abysmal, I could see the ghost of a smile flicker across Nyssa's lips, happy that for the first time since arriving here, she had been acknowledged. 

\--- 

We were one of the last to arrive on the Training Floor, even though it was only a quarter before ten. Hastily, I found ourselves ushered towards what I assumed were the changing rooms, where we were given a set of clothes made out of cool, stretchy cloth. It was indigo blue with dark-orange highlights, reminding me of the sunrise I had seen earlier. I flipped it over to see the number 7 glistening off the back as if it had been covered with a flexible piece of paper-thin glass. I trace my finger over the smooth, glossy outline absentmindedly. Would the Gamemakers be looking out for the boy from 7, eagerly watching me to see whether I was really worthy of the praise I got from Kanaky and Rocketdrift? Were they keen on seeing this nobody from a hungry District come out as winner this year? I bite my lower lip at the thought of them laughing at me being ridiculously out-of-place and fumbling with bulky, metal weapons, most of which were probably alien to me. 

Nyssa's rustling from the stall beside me snapped me out of my insecurities. 

It doesn't matter, I thought, pulling off my shirt. I'll be helping her today. Though Linwood had told me to get acquainted with the weaponry, I decided that I would follow Nyssa around, offering her reassurance and support and maybe learning a thing or two myself. Also, Linwood's offhandish suggestion of "just throw paper at them, willowtree, maybe they'll give poisonous paper this year" still prickled at my side. 

When we were dressed and ready, we were led out towards the main training area, where most of the tributes had already assembled. They crowded around a lean woman whom I assumed was the Head Trainer. I could feel the anxiety radiating off Nyssa as most of the Careers seemed inclined to stand as menacingly as they could, eyeing their competition with frightening gazes that could probably crush boulders and slit throats. I took note of a few of them as we made our way to the circle. The boy with the 4 on his back had strong legs and fidgety arms and the girl from 1 looked more than eager to put one of the smaller tributes into a headlock. There were a few little ones, between the ages of twelve and fourteen, who cowered away with 11 and 3 etched on their clothes. The most malnourished ones were from 12, with their wide eyes and stick-like arms, looking ready to die at the drop of a hat. 

Drifting above some of the crowd, I could see Tom's curly-haired head peeking out, confirming my suspicions that he'd be one of the taller ones there. He stood out like a sore thumb. Nyssa could be rest assured that she wasn't the only one who was incapable, lanky and out of place. 

I was about to smile, call out and bring her over to introduce her to him. 

When I saw the dangerous number 2 glistening on his back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He seemed happy at first to see me, but the smile died from his lips when his eyes locked with mine. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say he was confused, but that was probably a ploy of his as well. So I chose that moment to harden my gaze and tell him through look alone:
> 
> I saw through your plan, you _pathetic snake_ , you're not fooling me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this chapter a little later, but my readers on my tumblr insisted that I post this now. ^^; So here it is. Enjoy. =)
> 
> PS. Thank you so much to everyone who left me a comment, bookmarked and sent me kudos. You make my day. =D

My first instinct was to grab him, push him up against the wall and demand an explanation from the cunning snake. **Who** did he think he was? Did he think he could use the dirty old technique of feigning weakness, and then show his true colours when we least expect it? Could I have been one of his early victims if I hadn’t met him last night? The image of his icy grey eyes glinting as he slit my throat was all too clear in my head now. It was like a capsule of acid had been cracked open at the back of my mouth. I felt my hand clench into a tight fist and my eyes narrowing into a glare, concentrating all my hatred, anger and _betrayal_ at that ridiculously curly-haired head of his. _No good District 2’s_ , I thought. _The Peacekeeper District._ Always eager to follow orders. What had his order been? ‘Let’s make this year interesting, we’ll send a weakling of a tribute to throw everyone off and then laugh as everyone is killed!’.

As if sensing the invisible knives I was aiming in his direction, he turned his head towards me. He seemed happy at first to see me, but the smile died from his lips when his eyes locked with mine. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d say he was confused, but that was probably a ploy of his as well. So I chose that moment to harden my gaze and tell him through look alone: 

_I saw through your plan, you pathetic snake, you’re not fooling me._

“Any questions?” the woman in the middle of the circle asked promptly. I blinked and jerked my head towards her, probably looking as lost as a deer from being caught off-guard. “No? Good,” she continued, brushing imaginary dust from the front of her shirt. She hadn’t realised that I wasn’t paying attention. I was both relieved and worried at the same time. “You may begin.” 

Before I could take a second breath, a stampede of Careers was pushing against me, jerking me out of the way with their bulky bodies as they ran towards the extensive weaponry behind me. A small-framed girl elbowed me in the gut, almost knocking the air out of my lungs. Whether it had been intentional or not, I wasn’t sure, but seeing Tom still standing there, lingering in front of me, I fought back the urge to wince. No, I would rather die than appear weak to you now, so you can kill the act, District 2. You’re no friend of mine. 

“Chris, are you alright?” he dared to sound concerned as he stepped towards me, closing the distance between us. Nyssa shuffled back when he approached, most likely out of fear. 

“Just fine,” I snarled, smacking his arm out of the way. “Move along, District 2, go train with your buddies over there.” I jerked my head in the direction of the Careers, who were now laughing and jeering loudly as one of them threw a mace at a dummy ‘just for fun’. It cleared the wooden head clean off in an instant. 

Tom was still sticking with his act, furrowing his brow in confusion. Impatiently, I sidestepped him, took as gentle of a hold possible of Nyssa’s wrist and stormed away, leading her in the opposite direction. 

“Do you… know him?” she murmured uncertainly and I shook my head purely out of spite. There was a vile taste on my tongue, as if I had swallowed an entire flask of bittergourd juice. 

“No,” I snapped roughly, before remembering who I was talking to and softening my tone. “Never met him in my life.” 

\--- 

We spent most of the first hour at the edible plants station, though I wasn’t sure how much help it would be of us if we were thrown into a giant desert. I reassured myself by thinking that the Capitol wouldn’t be that cruel. Sure they could do that, but leaving us all to die of thirst within the first three days would be _mean_ to the citizens; they wanted a good show after all, not writhing dehydrated children dying like flies. 

Nyssa broke me out of my morbid thoughts as the screen in front of us flashed once, twice, three times before the letter “A” materialised in bright turquoise. That was most likely the grade for the test she had taken, I assumed, and from the way she was grinning widely and clapping her hands - which probably the Nyssa-equivalent of ecstatic - it was a good grade. I smiled and offered her a small “congratulations”, to which she nodded almost shyly, still not entirely used to praise. 

“Congrats,” the trainer who was manning the station gave a thumbs up. “Did you learn this before?” 

I saw Nyssa freeze momentarily, staring at the man with wide eyes, as if suspecting that he was obliged to ask her this. But when she saw the genuine curiosity and encouraging smile, she looked bashfully to the floor, causing her curtain of hair to fall over her face again. “My grandmother taught me,” she half-whispered. “My family eats mostly plants.” 

“Do you grow them?” he asked, remaining patient with her, and I could see that she was more responsive now, her answer coming quicker than the one before. 

“Only a little,” she admitted. “We have a small lettuce patch at the Huts, where we make the paper.” 

“Do you collect the rest on your own, then?” 

She nodded, her head slowly angling upwards. “When others my age go to the forest to chop wood, I follow them and collect plants along the way.” By the time she had finished her sentence, she was looking straight at him, locks of her chestnut brown hair splitting and moving away from her face. 

I was amazed. It was then I realised that I had never heard Nyssa speak more than five words in a sentence before. Her voice was light and delicate, like the tiny bells they sold at the old toy store back home. 

“Well, it’s good that you did,” the trainer nodded his head. “It might give you an edge during the games.” 

Nyssa appeared stunned to speak. Up till now, this was the very first person who had believed in her and given her hope for survival. Not even Brill had told her that she stood a chance against the rest, choosing instead to remain silent whenever Linwood shot a derogatory comment her way. I smiled gratefully, watching some of the worry fade from her wide, green eyes. 

\--- 

The following few hours were spent running, jumping, shimmying, struggling and floundering through the various obstacle courses set up around the Training Center. Needless to say, by the end of the last course, Nyssa and I were panting, exhausted and covered in sweat; I was actually amazed I didn’t have to slow down too much for her to keep up with me. We hadn’t dared to approach the weapons station just yet; the Careers seemed to have made it their personal training spot for the time being. Well, most of the Careers had, a few of them had begun to mill around the other tables, tying knots and learning how to set traps. I noticed that Tom was spending a considerable amount of time at the camouflage booth, not that I was paying special attention to him, it was just hard not to miss his conspicuous curly hair. And it didn’t help that the bitter aftertaste of immense dislike was still strong on my tongue. 

“Okay, Tributes, lunch is ready, you may proceed to the dining hall,” the Head Trainer - whose name I found out was Prestia - announced. “Be reminded that you are not allowed to engage in any fights prior to the Games. You’ll have plenty of time to do that later.” And with that, she strode off, climbing a flight of stairs which I assumed, led to the floor where the Gamemakers had been watching us from. I glanced upwards and towards them. A beady-eyed man stared back at me from the other side of the glass panes, an egg-shaped goblet nursed in his meaty hand. 

“Hey, District 7,” a voice called out. It took me a second to realise the person was referring to me; I blinked and turned towards her direction, not too used to being addressed by my district just yet. It was that small-framed girl who had hit me in the stomach earlier. Now that she was standing still, I could see clearly now the curve of capable muscles along her arms and legs, the cold, stone grey eyes boring into me and the number 2 embossed to the front of her shirt. “Nice running,” she said simply before disappearing past the double-doors. 

I wasn’t sure whether that was a genuine compliment or she had meant to rile me, but I didn’t like it one bit. Especially since she was from the same District as Tom. Had they agreed on some bizarre game plan to confuse and distract me? Or was this that “culture shock” thing Brill had been talking about earlier? Whatever it was, I knew for a fact, neither Tom or this girl could be trusted. 

\--- 

Nyssa and I sat at one of the green seven-pointed tables that filled about half of the room. Famished from the obstacle courses, I was already done with my second serving of beef and potato stew when Nyssa had begun to poke at the vegetables on her plate. The corners of her thin lips were tweaked downwards, almost in a tight scowl. 

“You okay?” I asked and her eyes snapped upwards, staring directly at me. It unnerved me somewhat, suddenly seeing her so grim and dark, especially since she had just been praised earlier that morning. I’ve seen Linwood spurt foul things at her and all she ever did was wince and hide behind her hair. Something must be bothering her. 

“No,” she mumbled. “I think I have a stomachache.” Whatever anger she was harbouring inside was beginning to fade a little. I decided not to press any further, scooping a spoonful of meat and potato into my mouth. 

“Are you scheming with the Careers behind my back?” she chose that exact moment to voice her thoughts and I couldn’t look any guiltier, choking on my food and doubling over in a coughing fit. 

“No,” I rasped, gulping down the last of my orange juice, still coughing a bit more. I shake my head wildly, as if dispelling the thought. “No. That’s not true at all.” 

She didn’t seemed convinced, her gaze as unyielding as the winter wind, and just as icy. There was no way I could keep my encounter with Tom a secret now. I let out a deep exhale and took a quick look around the hall to make sure no one was eavesdropping. The Careers were laughing and eating loudly at the opposite corner of the hall and most of the other Districts were sitting at least one table apart from each other, scattered all across the room. None of them were anywhere near us. Good. 

“Last night,” I began in a hushed voice, and proceeded to tell her all that had happened last night; about me not being able to sleep, going up to the rooftop and bumping into Tom by chance. I stressed that at the time I didn’t remember what district he was from and he seemed friendly enough; how was I supposed to know he was a Career? I would have definitely turned away and went to bed the moment I realised he was from 2, I had insisted. I left out the part of his weakness reminding me of her, and instead told her that there was just _something_ nice and sincere about him (which wasn’t exactly a lie as well) and that I had considered making him an ally. She saw how I had reacted when we entered the Training room, I didn’t need to delve too deeply on that. 

“What about the girl then?” she asked, a bit more reassured of my allegiance now. The anger had died from her eyes, at least. 

I gave a shrug. “I’ve never spoken to her before, I think she was just taunting us.” 

“I hope you’re not lying to me,” Nyssa murmured softly, her voice now reverting to that light tinkle it was before, weightless and uncertain. My heart softened. 

“I’m telling the truth,” I said, and added after a bit of thought, “And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be looking out for you during the games.” 

Those wide, green eyes glanced upwards and stared straight into mine, the last of her doubt now a dying ember. I could hear the unsaid murmur of “really?” silently playing on her lips, so desperately hopeless and naive. 

And being equally cursed in hopelessness and naivety, I had said, “I promise.” 

\--- 

I had expected Tom to follow us around after lunch, from the way he kept casting glances in our direction. I would be eating and telling Nyssa about how sweet the bread was in the Capitol, or something else along those lines, and when I looked up, there he was, his clear grey eyes trained fixatedly in my direction. It unnerved me to say the least and I found myself readying about a dozen sentences and comebacks I planned to shout at him if he dared to come too close while we were training. But it threw me off all the more when he had instead, kept his distance. When Nyssa was trying out the bow and arrow, he was at the edible plant station, on the other side of the training center. When I was trying my hand at throwing spears, he was at the obstacle course, swinging from the ropes, and in my opinion, looking extremely awkward as he did. The entire time, I was left trying to figure out his angle, his goal, what exactly he would gain from giving us space. Trust? Us letting our guard down? I didn’t know and by evening, it was starting to drive me crazy. 

Nyssa decided to address my discomfort when we were at the snares and traps station. 

“What’s on your mind?” she queried, though she probably had a good idea since she had followed my gaze towards Tom, who had just started a fire with relative ease. He appeared childishly proud of his work, sucking his lower lip as he smiled. 

I turned away, forcing myself to feel disgust despite how much he had reminded me of Nyssa after her edible plants test. I cleared my throat. “Just… wondering why he’s staying far away from us.” 

“The same reason you are, maybe?” Nyssa offered without malice. 

I was about to ask her what she had meant but the question died on my lips when she trigged her snare with a stick. The thin rope coiled around it rapidly, like a snake attacking its prey, roughly snatching it out of her fingers. 

\--- 

“I didn’t think you’d be up here again.” 

I winced as I stepped out of the elevator, my gaze immediately falling upon the rooftop garden, where Tom’s back was turned towards me. He sat on one of the metal swings, his long legs stretched out before him, slowly rocking himself back and forth. He seemed distant, pensive, as if he had been deep in thought before I arrived. I suddenly felt like an intruder, as if I wasn’t allowed to be here. Maybe that’s what he had meant when I first met him the night before. 

“Why?” I snarled as menacingly as I could. “Because I saw through your little plan?” 

His answer was quick and insistent. “Chris, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, District 2,” I snapped and he abruptly twisted the top half of his body around. The nearby lamp cast an ominious shadow on one side of his face as the other was bathed in light. His eyebrows knitted together. 

“Since when did ‘ _Tom_ ‘… become ‘ _District 2_ ’?” he whispered, eyes narrowing as he punctuated each word. 

“Since Careers started training for the Hunger Games,” I maintained my stone front, unyielding to his sly emotional tactics. “Since District 2 started harbouring Peacekeepers. You’re all **nothing** but the Capitol’s lapdogs.” 

That seemed to have struck a chord. A look had swept across his face as something sparked in him. His hauntingly clear grey eyes seemed to swirl through an incoherent whirlpool of feelings, the only one I managed to identify being _pain_. 

“So,” he muttered, a hint of a choke in his voice. “I see my District’s reputation precedes me.” 

I was suddenly struck with an arrow of guilt, and for a moment I was forced to take a step back and realise how biased I was being. How _unfair_ I was to this boy whose name is the only thing I know about him. I didn’t know what his story is, whether he had a younger brother to protect or dreams he never got to live out. I was suddenly so angry at myself for pushing all of these accusations on him when he hadn’t done anything except wear a 2 on his shirt. 

And then I was even more angry because I had almost fallen for the same trick twice. 

“Stay away…” I growled, glaring at those deceiving eyes of his. “From me and Nyssa.” I slammed my fist against the buttons on the wall and the elevator doors slid open. 

Just when I was storming inside, seething with disgust, I hear his voice, cool and sincere: 

“I have done nothing but.” 

I punch the number 7 and allowed the doors to close before I let out my pent-up cry of frustration.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the pain didn’t compare to the unbearable tightness plaguing my chest; the sharp, stinging spearhead lodged deep within my heart, stemming from the cruel grasp of one undeniable fact:
> 
> We didn’t have much time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so, so much for the comments and kudos and bookmarks. =)
> 
> As a huge "thank you" to everyone, I made [this photoset](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/post/23585354101/for-my-hunger-games-hiddlesworth-fic-penance) especially for this fic. <3 I hope you guys like it. It took a lot more time and effort that I had expected. haha. ^^;

I woke up the next morning, restless, sore and waterlogged neck-down with ice _cold_ realisation. My lips were dry and peeling and my throat was as rough as harsh sandpaper. I felt as if I hadn't had a drink in days, all moisture, energy and spirit sapped from my body. My body crumbled like a ragdoll when I tried to sit up, a crackling ache pulsing relentlessly through my veins. Like creeping vines on a fence, the pain twisted and curled around my arms and legs, thick roots embedding themselves deeply into my flesh, which flared like glowing embers to the wind with every muscle I moved. Luke had told me about this once, I recall vaguely, it meant that I had overexerted myself.

But the pain didn't compare to the unbearable tightness plaguing my chest; the sharp, stinging spearhead lodged deep within my heart, stemming from the cruel grasp of one undeniable fact: 

We didn't have much time. 

I let out a long, dragged-out sigh, feeling all the air leave my shaky lungs. 

We **didn't** have much time. 

My fingertips twitched on the bedsheets as I counted down the days, a thick wad of apprehension lodging in my throat. Tomorrow's the private training session with the Gamemakers, the day after would be assigned to practising for interviews and a couple more later would be the Games. 

The _Games_. 

I fisted my hand around one of the dense pillows on my bed, in desperate need of something to ground me and to drag me out of the haze of morbid thoughts. But the way my palm effortlessly sunk into the airy down sent rivulets of ice shooting up my spine. Revolted, I frustratedly kicked the floppy cushion off the edge of my bed, pressing the side of my face into the thick mattress. For a moment, I remained completely still, my head and joints hardened from the absolute lack of familiarity the Capitol provided. 

But as the dark thoughts begin to intrude my mind once more, I leapt out of my bed to drench my head in scalding hot water. 

\--- 

The stinging sharpness didn't waver at all, not even hours later when I was presented with a hearty breakfast of eggs and spiced sausages. I grimaced. 

The first ten minutes into our meal was filled with silence, as usual. From the corner of my eye, I could see Brill's questioning gaze berating me for my atrocious appearance. Ignoring her, I forced a large gulp of milk down my throat. I looked horrible, I know; I had seen the dark bags under my eyes and the unruly disarray of my hair but in all honesty, I couldn't care less. When Linwood chose to divert his attention away from me and towards a large of bowl cranberry oatmeal, I was overcome with relief. At least my mentor knew when to keep his distance. Brill, however, was not as trained in the art of subtlety. 

"So, last day of group practice, _exciting_ is it not?” she tried to engage us in some small-talk, her voice shuddering with what I wouldn't like to think was exhilaration. My scowl deepened when she started to animatedly hum the Capitol anthem into her cup of orange juice. 

I had to disagree; a day off from chopping wood is _exciting_ , having a spoonful of honey in our pine-needle tea is _exciting_ , teaching Liam how to craft his axe is _exciting_. 

This is **not** exciting. In fact, I was close to throwing up. 

“Nyssa!” bored of my lack of enthusiasm, she now channelled her inappropriate mirth towards the curtain of hair at my right. “I didn’t get to ask yesterday, how _was_ your training?” Her eyebrows knitted sympathetically; it was painfully obvious that she was readying a myriad reassuring and encouraging words, expecting failure even before Nyssa had said anything. 

I was reminded of the day before: the A in the edible plants test, the swift, fluid manner she had manoeuvered through the obstacle course, the initial awkwardness with a foldable knife and the welled-up tears from when her rope snare had recoiled and snapped against her neck. From the way Nyssa's fingers brushed against the pink stripe on her nape, I assumed the same thoughts were running through her head. “It was okay,” she mumbled, withdrawing back into her shell, as if there had been no accomplishments the day before. The pitiful gleam in Brill’s eyes riled me; she was staring at Nyssa like a wounded creature, crippled and fated for nothing but death. In fact - I let the poisonous thought slipped into my mind - I wouldn't be surprised if Brill _hoped_ for Nyssa's quick demise. 

“She did very well,” I couldn’t help but interject. “She did really, _really_ well. Better than I expected!” Upon me saying this, Nyssa’s head - and everyone else’s - had snapped to me, and the silence that followed was overwhelmingly tense. “I-It’s true!” I insisted, feeling more and more like a madman with each passing second. My gaze fell upon Nyssa, silently urging her through look alone ‘Tell them! You know it’s true!’. 

When she turned her head to the floor once more, I bit my cheek. Hard. 

“Wow. I hope you didn’t hit your head _too_ hard, fireball,” Linwood’s scoff sparked the bitterness inside me. 

“Linwo―” I started, half-rising from my seat and more than ready to recite her list of achievements when I felt the tender, _pleading_ hand on my arm. The fire was snuffed out abruptly, as if the life had been stolen from it and I found myself falling back to the chair, the fading embers of my anger scorching my throat. 

Non-verbally excusing my behaviour as stress, the table soon fell back to the familiar tight wordlessness, peppered with the occasional clink of metal against ceramic and the gurgle of juice being poured. I was left breathing heavily and wholly perplexed, a row of teeth roughly clamped over my lower lip. Nyssa's palm remained where it was, a gentle and reassuring weight that slowly drained the molten lead from my chest. 

I couldn’t help but look towards her, eager for an explanation. 

But the sight of her trembling lip silenced all of my questions in a single, heartbreaking moment. 

\--- 

"Hey, District 7!" 

She intercepted me just as I was about to walk into the dining hall for lunch, landing a few firm taps on my shoulder for good measure. It was the District 2 girl, I realised when I turned my head, and she offered me a friendly smirk. She folded her arms and cocked her head to the side, urging me to follow. I cast a glance to Nyssa, who simply returned it with half a smile before disappearing into the canteen. The knowing look in her forest green eyes was like a punch to my gut. 

"Could we talk... for a sec?" the Career asked, mostly out of obligation than actual politeness. Regardless, she had waited for my nod before leading me to a nearby corner, stone grey eyes gleaming as if she was privy to a well-kept secret. 

"What is it?" I murmured absent-mindedly, still stinging from Nyssa's gaze. 

"Well, the guys and me were wondering, since you seem pretty capable and all," she began casually. "Whether you'd like to form an alliance with us in the Games." 

She nonchalantly motioned towards the pack of Careers; they formed a tight pack around the weapons station as usual. I took note of them: the girl and boy from District 1, the pair from 4 and a boy whom I assumed they had recruited quite recently, standing awkwardly between them, a number 9 on his shirt. Like many others, he wasn't familiar to me. 

I blinked just as I realised something. "Tom isn't with you?" the statement left me before I could stop it, escaping mostly out of surprise. The glimmer in her eye seemed to flicker off as she grimaced at my words. I immediately regretted having said anything. 

" _Why?_ You want him in?" she shot the question more bluntly that I would have liked. The Peacekeeper upbringing was clear in the way she had barked it out, purposeful and tactless. 

"I didn't say that," I reassured with a shrug of my shoulders, trying my best to hide my growing discomfort. "I was just wondering, is all, since he's from your district and usually..." my voice trailed off as the cold gaze bore deeper into my eyes. It was disbelieving and cruel, something that should never be present in the eyes of a 15-year-old. 

Her lips were a thin line. She sighed. "Fine, if we bring Tom in, would you join us?" 

"I didn't mean... That's not what... I don't..." All of my replies came out half-formed and uncertain, making me feel more and more like an idiot with every word I uttered. _That's not it at all! I hate him!_ was what I wanted to say, but I just couldn't phrase it without making the mistake of offending her even more. 

"I don't know..." I admitted with reluctance. 

"Hey, I get it," she brushed off, the Peacekeeper streak dissipating into uncharacteristic casualness. "From the way you're babying that girl tribute, I figured you wouldn't be that keen on leaving her all on her own." I didn't like her choice of words, but it could be worse. She could be threatening to kill me right after the Games countdown. "Look, I'll give you some time," I forced a small smile as she patted my collarbone. "Tom's in, so don't worry too much about him." 

I was about to retort that I was in no way worried about the curly-haired beanpole and was more than eager to see him killed in the initial bloodbath when she abruptly thrust her right hand forward. 

"I'm Marka, by the way," she gave the delayed introduction. "Marka Etch. District 2." 

"Chris," I mumbled, hesitantly accepting the handshake. 

"Well, Chris," Marka grinned, giving my hand a firm squeeze. "I hope you think _carefully_ about my offer." Her eyes gleamed like ruthless marble under the afternoon sun and the indiscreet menace of her voice was unnerving. 

"Yeah... I will," I nodded. She offered me one last ingenuine smile before walking away, leaving me torn, confused and reluctantly aware of how _severely_ different she was from Tom. 

\--- 

Nyssa didn't bring up the conversation I had with Marka, which proved even more worrying than if she had demanded me to explain everything - like how she had done the day before. Instead, she talked about mundane things like the cream sauce on her potatoes, the strong taste of Capitol honey and how she had almost tripped over her own feet at the end of the rope obstacle course. Somewhere between her main dish and the snack of ginger biscuits she had set aside, I was about to tell her that it was okay and that we could talk about the offer Marka had made me. But she seemed to have read my mind because she abruptly stood up and with a hasty "Oh I forgot something in the training room" and exited the hall. 

She didn't return for her biscuits. 

It was when most of the tributes had finished their meals and had begun to empty out of canteen did I realise that she had no intention of coming back. Crestfallen, I shovelled the gingersnaps into a paper bag and joined the small sea of people flowing back into the training centre. 

I spotted her at the archery range, face flushed pink and a lonely bow clutched tightly in her hand. Before I could approach her, let alone speak, she had already replaced the weapon on the racks and was quickly striding back to the obstacle courses. At first, I thought that she had only just picked up the bow... but then I saw the singular arrow in the arm of the training dummy, and the twenty-odd more haphazardly scattered across the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I looked up. They stood in their platformed room, the elevation making their gazes all the more intimidating. I began to feel extremely vulnerable as I was scrutinised by their narrowed eyes and twitching lips. For a moment, I had simply stood there, dumb and motionless.
> 
> “You may begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love each and every person who has commented, sent me kudos and bookmarked my fic. You guys really keep me going. I love hearing what you have to say and can I just send each and every one of you a hug? :D *sends e-hugs*
> 
> Also, also, the lovely [panda-danna](panda-danna.tumblr.com) has made [a wonderful promotional manip](http://panda-danna.tumblr.com/post/23947901481/so-amazingly-talented-and-soon-to-be-commander) just for this fic and it is absolutely fantastic! =D <3 Please check it out if you can!

It was so quiet, I was afraid the others would hear the thumping of my heart; I certainly heard it clearly, each panicked beat fluttering like a caged bird before recklessly colliding against my eardrum. My breaths were shallow and shaky and it took all of my self control to appear calm, dragging out each inhale and prolonging each exhale, not wanting to appear weak in front of the other tributes. It was the biggest mistake, I've learnt. Already, I could see the District 1 girl smirking knowingly at the smaller tributes, their skinny frames wrought with nervous jitters. It didn’t take a psychic to read her thoughts, it was written all over her face: _They’re first. They'll be the first once we enter the arena._

I pressed my back harder against the uncomfortable plastic chair, stretching out my legs as far as I could, concentrating instead on the pull of my muscles and sinews, wringing out the ache from my overexertion. The pain still crackled under my skin, but less so today. I tried to pay attention to that, rather than the mounting anticipation of the private training sessions. It was now that I had begun to have second thoughts on what I should do, what talent I should show them. Should I play the big brute and throw some weights around? Or should I play the hunter and set up complicated traps? Would it better to play the strategist and show them my promise in survival skills? 

I knew it wasn’t the time to rethink my game plan, but the suggestions came regardless. I sighed once more through my nose. 

"All the best, Chris,” Marka’s voice flittered over, clear and ringing in the silence of the waiting room. Twenty-one pairs of eyes immediately fell on me and I fought back any involuntary movements, remaining as still as stone. I forced a grin. 

“You too,” I returned with as much casualness as I could muster. She simply smirked and leant back against her seat, a satisfied gleam in her eye. Tom - sitting beside her - had paid no attention, the back of his curly head facing me. I raised an eyebrow. 

Had she intended to rile me? To throw me off? Well, it almost worked, I thought, shoving my hands into my pockets. 

But then, a second later, it hit me. She had done it to mark me as a threat to the other tributes. Being friendly with the Careers would certainly set off some alarms for the rest. A quick scan around yielded me various reactions, most of them being negativity from the poorer Districts; dirty glares, frightful looks and one of them couldn’t even stand the sight of me, immediately diverting his eyes away. I swore internally. 

She’s smart, I’ll give her that. 

Pinning me to the corner, scaring away any other potential allies and forcing me to join them; she’s dangerously cunning, extremely so. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. 

Suddenly, the large double doors to the training room cracked open, revealing a tall, uniformed figure of a man. His moustache twitched when he spoke. “Facet,” he called out promptly. I assumed it was a name. “Facet Ormalline.” 

The boy sitting next to the District 1 girl practically jumped to his feet, eyes immediately narrowing into a piercing gaze. Right at me. I could understand why though. Out of the other tributes this year, I was one of the rare few that managed to rival his physique. Years of chopping oak and bringing down pine have given me an advantage that could potentially challenge a Career who has been training all his life. It was obvious from the way he looked at me that he saw me as a threat. 

He tore his glare away only just as the doors were closing shut behind his back. 

I swallowed. The pressure to join them had only grown stronger. 

\--- 

Nyssa arrived in the waiting room, silent and out-of-breath, just as Marka’s name was called. The two of them exchanged looks; well, Marka gave her a look, Nyssa had merely looked down. 

She shuffled over to me as Marka disappeared into the hall. As she took the seat next to mine, I immediately turned towards her and placed my hand over hers. I wasn't keen on her running off again. “You okay?” I whispered worriedly. “I didn’t see you since training yesterday.” It had been eating at me ever since the incident before lunch and grown even stronger right after. I had planned on talking to her about it when we were at our floor, but she had simply… _disappeared_ the moment we were dismissed from training. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, sounding as frail as ever. I knitted my eyebrows together. “I was in my room, planning my strategy.” 

“You didn’t come out for dinner.” 

“I had it in my room,” her reply was quick, overlapping with mine as if she knew what I was about to say. She offered the faintest of smiles. “Pea soup and chicken,” she said, trying to reassure me. 

I fell silent, uncertain of what to say. Nyssa seemed content with this and said nothing. Neither of us made an effort to speak after that. 

\--- 

“Chris,” my name was called. “Chris Hemsworth.” 

I was as tense as a board when I staggered up from my seat; my joints felt as if they had been turned to rock. The weight of the other tributes' eyes threatened to pull me down and without a second glance back, I followed the man, striding as confidently as I could past the double doors. 

But it was when I was in the middle of the quiet training hall did I realise how obnoxiously loud my footsteps were or how much my brow was sweating or how daunting the Gamemakers were now that there were all looking at me. I looked up. They stood in their platformed room, the elevation making their gazes all the more intimidating. I began to feel extremely vulnerable as I was scrutinised by their narrowed eyes and twitching lips. For a moment, I had simply stood there, dumb and motionless. 

“You may begin,” a woman with bright pink hair announced and I was grateful, for that seemed to snap my body out of its catatonic state. 

“Yes, right,” I murmured to myself, but from how silent the room was, the fly on the wall probably heard it as clearly as I did. I walked over to the weapons table and reached for the most familiar one. 

The silver axes they had provided me were bizarre; the grip was cold and the handle uncharacteristically light. Testingly, I lunged one at a nearby target, watching it curve away, missing it completely. 

It took me three more missed throws to properly gauge how I should angle them. I didn’t allow that to deter me and I pressed on, easily decapitating and striking the human-shaped targets in the chest. There was a curt clatter of an applause from the Gamemakers, causing me to flinch. They weren't impressed. It didn’t sound all that genuine and I could practically hear their condescending thoughts: What? This is the boy from District 7? I thought he would be better than this. What a disappointment. Rocketdrift and Kanaky were overselling him with their exaggerations. This is mediocre child’s play. What happened to that _fire_ , boy? What happened to that? 

I slammed my hand down on the button louder than I would have liked. 

The old dummies disappeared down dark trap doors before being replaced by new ones. I took in one deep breath before reaching for another button, promptly pressing down on it. I had seen Facet done it before and had been surprised of what had followed. 

There was a loud groan as hidden machinery and spinning motors came to life. The dummies had begun to move rapidly, tracing along the intricate grid pattern on the floor. They shifted, moved and jerked like the foam of a rapid stream on rock, erratic and almost unpredictable. 

Almost. 

I threw an axe, one of them lost its head. 

Another followed and if it had a heart, it would have been too mutilated to work. I smiled in triumph as I began to grow more and more familiar with the Capitol axes, feeling the momentum building up in my arms. The air ‘whooped’ as each one left my hand, soon followed by a loud crack of wood being pierced. I began to feel more at ease now. 

The more I threw, the easier it got, and by the time the targets creaked to a shuddering halt, each of them had a silver axe glinting in their chest. None of them had a head. 

I turned back to the Gamemakers, wholly satisfied, panting and with every fibre of my body feeling as if it was on fire. But the twinge of a smile I had wavered when I saw the disinterested eyes trained upon me. 

A second passed and I saw one of them giving a thumbs up “for effort”. 

\--- 

Linwood was laughing maniacally at my expense. 

“That’s priceless!” he snorted between his obnoxious guffaws. The armchair he was sitting on rocked back and forth as he kicked his legs; I mentally wished for it to fall over. “ _Priceless_. Priceless! I would have _paid_ to see the look on your face!” 

“You probably could, knowing you,” I muttered under my breath. “Living in Victor Village and all.” 

“Ohohohohohoo! Ridiculous! Hahahahahaha!” He didn’t seem to have heard me. 

“Well, from the way Chris explained it, I am sure he did well enough,” Brill said matter-of-factly as she poured some tea. The oddly-shaped pot gave a curious sound as it was placed back on the table, like a little flute playing a tune; I cocked up an eyebrow but she seemed to find this normal teapot behaviour. “After all, the Gamemakers this year are quite notorious for their…” she paused to find an appropriate word. 

“Sense of humour?” Linwood suggested. 

“Stoicness,” Brill finished. The bells in her hair jingled as she sashayed over us, offering the steaming cup under my nose. I took it without question. “I’ve seen them at parties, you know. Utter _bore_ , some of them.” 

“Really?” I murmured along the rim of the cup, taking tiny sips of the strawberry tea. 

“Really!” she insisted, lounging back against one of the sofas. “Not a single laugh at any of my jokes. _None_!” 

I was crestfallen. Somehow I didn’t believe that was due to stoicness. From Linwood’s snort, I didn’t think he did either. 

“Oh! Ohh! It’s starting!” Brill suddenly squealed as the Capitol insignia flashed across the large television screen. Overcome with excitement, she fumbled carelessly with the remote, pressing a myriad of random buttons by accident - and causing the screen to flash seven different colours - before managing to increase the volume. “Nyssa! _Nyssa_!!” she called. “Come over, dear, it's showing!” 

I looked up from my tea. As Kanaky raved on about how “exciting” it was to “see the fruits of progress” from the tributes, Nyssa strode into the sitting room. Her long hair was pulled away from her face in a loose ponytail. I was unsure of whether I should make a comment or not, not being too certain of our current relationship after yesterday. Finally, I settled with a small smile. To my relief, she returned it albeit shyly. Well, at least we were still friends… I think. 

The scores were animatedly announced as each tribute’s photograph flashed across the screen. The hosts didn’t hold back on their commentary as usual, blabbering on and on about the significance of this moment and how our lives depended on this. I ignored them and focused instead on the scores, eager to see what I’m up against. 

They went in order of our districts; Facet got an 11 and the girl tribute, Sheer, was awarded with an eight. Marka was given a “promising” nine and I furrowed my eyebrows at the bright eight flashing under Tom’s name. _So much for being weak_ , I thought acidly. The programme continued with less eagerness after that, with the poorer districts gaining points around the two to five range; even District 4 wasn’t as promising, with a six and a seven each. I wasn’t sure whether I should be suspecting some favouritism occurring here and from the way Linwood looked, I suspected he was thinking the same. 

“And now, for the _fiery_ Chris Hemsworth from District 7,” Rocketdrift grinned knowingly to his co-host. I had to hide my face behind my hand to block out Linwood’s amused laugh. “Ten!” 

I almost fell out of my chair. 

“See? _See_? Stoicness!” Brill announced, standing up on her high heels and applauding at the screen. 

“For Nyssa Langerhan, the female tribute from District 7,” Kanaky peeled the envelope open in a swift movement. “Seven!” 

“WHAAAAAT?” Linwood rose as well, not bothering to hide his shock. 

“Nyssa? Nyssa! This is wonderful! _Wonderful_!!” Brill practically shrieked into my ear as she immediately grabbed hold of Nyssa and pulled her into an extremely tight hug. There was a small squeak from as the air was pressed out of her lungs and I couldn’t help but grin. 

“Amazing, Nyssa! Amazing!” I congratulated her as she was released, clapping my hands. Her cheeks were tinged pink and she was biting the inside of her lip, the smallest of smiles perking up the corners of her mouth. She mouthed a silent ‘thank you’. 

“Well, willowtree,” Linwood’s mutter broke her attention away from me; my gaze followed as well, bracing myself for a negative comeback of some sort, but the satisfied look in his eyes both shocked and reassured me. “You did good,” he said with a tiny nod of his head. “You did good.” 

That night, we celebrated our scores with countless toasts and more jokes and laughing than would’ve been appropriate. Each time I glanced over to Nyssa to see how she was doing, she beamed right back at me with the widest smile I had ever seen on her face. She raised her glass with every dedication Brill shot our way and blushed at the compliments she was showered with. She seemed to glow with genuine pride and glee, faint tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. This was probably the only moment she had achieved anything worthy of praise and I was _so_ happy for her. 

But by the end of the night, when tiredness began to set in, the haunting words I once read in a book kept edging along that happiness. They were like cold water, the same sensation I felt when I discovered that Tom was from District 2. The same inevitable disappointment that kept repeating itself over and over… 

Let us eat, drink and be merry… 

_For tomorrow we die._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know what a facet is, Alucio?" the query was teasing, taunting, as if he was directing it to all the other tributes. To me. "It's a cut, on a diamond. You know what cuts do? Sharpens it, makes it a weapon." He leant back against the chair, triumphantly declaring,
> 
> "And that's me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is okay, guys. For some reason, I was having issues with it while redrafting. =.= *flips a table out of frustration*
> 
> Once again, thank you thank you so much for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks. <3 <3 <3 They really, truly make everything feel worthwhile. =D I love reading them and reading your reactions. <3

"Promise me," Liam's disdained whisper pierced my heart.

A weight pressed against my chest and I could feel his shoulders trembling as he wrapped his shaking arms around me. "Promise me you'll come back." I could feel the ache, the pure white hot pain that dripped with his every word. I closed my eyes and tried to forget the last time I myself had uttered those words. Against my will, Luke's tender smile resurfaced from the bitter darkness of my memories, reassuring, kind and so full of lies as he whispered back... 

"I promise." 

And here I was murmuring the exact same words. 

\--- 

"Nightmares, fireball?" 

"I don't want to talk about it," I snapped as I slumped into the thin plush of the dining room chair. Hastily, I snatched a pot of what I hoped was tea and splashed the contents into a nearby mug. I immediately wrinkled my nose at the jet black liquid. Coffee. 

"Well, you'd better think of something else to talk about then, interviews and all," Linwood shot back, masking his brashness with nonchalance. I sighed. Why does everything that comes from his mouth sound like a challenge? 

I glared at the contents of my cup and bit my lower lip, it smelled like charred meat and earth. Hazy images of forest fires and fleeing deer flickered across my mind, the memories threatening to pull me back into the dark folds of last night's nightmares. My grip on the handle tightened. "Can I not?" I mutter gloomily. 

"Not what--" 

"Interview training," I cut him off. It took a good amount of self-control to hold back the 'with you' that was budding on my lips. 

That seemed to have gotten his attention. Linwood was no longer preoccupied with buttering his honeyed toast now at least. He shot me a look, neither disapproving nor supporting, but it looked too much like a glare for him to be sincerely considering my suggestion. My shoulders tensed and I placed my mug back on the table. I wasn't too sure whether that had been a good move now. 

"Look, fireball," he finally spoke up after a long, rigid pause. "This is kinda important--" 

"Yeah, I get i--" 

"Can you let me finish?" he overrode me irritatedly like how a schoolteacher would. There was another moment of silence, presumably so that Linwood could get his point across. For once, I didn't resist and held my tongue; but I leant back against my chair just to show that I wasn't so keen on taking him seriously. 

Regardless, Linwood continued. "Tomorrow's interviews are important," he emphasised, setting down his toast. "You need to make an impression on the sponsors. They're the ones that are going to be keeping you alive, fireball." Wincing at the reminder, I glared as he leant forward, eyes trained on me. "And for that to happen--" 

"They have to like me?" I raised an eyebrow. As if _Linwood_ of all people could teach me how to be likeable. 

"No, they don't have to _like_ you," he wasn't as irritated at the interruption this time. "Heck, I'm sure they hated me," Linwood snorted and I didn't hold back my scoff. Well, at least he was aware of how unpleasant he was. But the smile died from my lips the moment his gaze grew solemn and grim. "But that's the thing. They liked how nasty I was," he muttered with finality. 

"And?" I didn't quite understand. 

"Look, you've been riding on the coattails of that " _fire_ " thing ever since your reaping," he punctuated the 'fire' with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. I frowned as it was brought up, not liking the embarrassment that always seemed to follow. Before I could snap at him, he continued, "Now from the trainride here up till now, I did not see one lick of that so-called fire." 

"Well sorry for not meeting your expectations..." I muttered in an undertone. What was the point of telling me this? I hadn't even known that my face could _look_ like that before the reaping. 

"Exactly," Linwood hissed as if I had just answered an extremely simple question. My frown deepened. "You've got a _reputation_ to live up to, kid." He chose that moment to inappropriately take a large gulp of milk from his glass. "And if you're not full of fire by tomorrow, that's going to mean half-a-dozen sponsors withdrawing their money from your account." 

I slammed my hand on the table. "That's ridiculous!" I retorted in disbelief. "That 'fire' wasn't even me. I looked like a Career." The image of my vicious glare piercing through the rain and mud flashed across my mind once more. I held back a shudder. "That's not who I really am." 

"Fireball, do you _honestly_ think they care about who you really are?" Linwood asked sardonically, his voiced lowered to a dead-serious mutter. He was so sure of himself, so disgustingly certain that the sponsors were as heartless as that. 

"You're making it sound like..." I paused, stumbling and struggling to find the right words. "Like we're just playing characters! Like... Like that's all they want, the only thing they'll ever 'care' about is a good show!" I condemned each word that came from my mouth, not wanting any of it to be true. Had Luke gone through this as well? Was he also forced to become something he wasn't? 

Linwood leant forward and I didn't think a single word could possibly hit me so hard. 

"Exactly." 

\--- 

The near-deafening music blared from invisible speakers and I could hear the crowd's applause growing louder and louder as it built up to the familiar crescendo. Right on cue, like it has always been for the past ten years, the white outline which was Alucio Preen jogged onto the stage, bright blue coattails trailing after him. I watched him from the waiting room television screen as the cameras zoomed and panned on his face, his diamond-studded smile gleaming as brightly as ever under the flickering spotlights. I winced and was forced to squint for the remainder of the introduction. 

"Ladies and gentlemen!" his Capitol-accented voice boomed as if he was speaking into a microphone. I didn't see any on the stage and assumed that a small one had been fastened to his angular tuxedo. "I wish you all Happy Hunger Games!!!" The crowd erupted into excited cheers as he said this, most of the hall leaping to their feet and raising their hands above their heads. Me, like the rest of the tributes in the room, shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. "Haha!" he laughed gleefully, the cameras shifting back to him as he waved his right hand. The music died down. "I can tell that you all have been waiting for this since last year!" his comment was replied with a chorus of whistles and claps, to which he grinned avidly like he always did, basking in the glow of the limelight. "Now, before we meet this year's promising tributes, let's do a quick recap of the scores." From the corner of my eye, I spotted Sheer - the District 1 girl - standing up from her seat and walking to the doorway. 

After the quick musical interval where our scores were flashed alongside our names, the screen flickered back to Alucio's beaming face. "Fantastic, _fantastic_ ," he smiled, his abnormally pale skin appearing as paper-thin as ever. "Now, we call upon District 1's stunning female tribute, Sheer Rovsky!" 

Though I had only just seen her mere seconds ago, she was near unrecognisable under the glimmer of the stagelights and the sea of flashing cameras. Her silver dress shone with every step she took, as if every single inch of it had been studded with glistening diamonds. 

She handled her interview well, giggling and smiling sweetly at every compliment Alucio sent her way, projecting an angelic image of a pretty girl from the gemstone District. The halo of light reflected from her shimmering headband only amplified this 'heavenly' effect, and if I hadn't seen the vicious way she had mutilated countless training dummies with her sword, I would have fallen for it as well. 

When her three minutes were up, Facet was called to the stage. 

He was arrogant, confident and had a perpetual smirk plastered to his face. He strode to his seat like he owned the stage and had sat down so abruptly and brusquely, I thought the chair was going to break under his weight. My initial distaste of him grew all the more stronger now. 

To represent his district, his white suit gave the tiniest glimmers, probably from the jewels I had seen his stylist pinning to his jacket lining earlier that evening. How they got them to shine through the fabric, I didn't know - and honestly, I didn't care. 

"Facet, you received a solid eleven," Alucio remarked with a nod, thoroughly impressed. This was further punctuated with an applause from the audience. "That's an extremely high score." 

"Yeah, well, I gave it my all," Facet grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. 

"Well, well it _certainly_ paid off," nodding in agreement, Preen then made a show of tilting his head closer to him. "Do you think you could let us in on your secret?" 

"It was what I was made for," Facet scoffed; he so sure of himself, it was repulsive. Uncrossing his legs, he leant as far as he could on the seat, lips cocked upwards. "You know what a facet is, Alucio?" the query was teasing, taunting, as if he was directing it to all the other tributes. To me. 

The quick glance in the direction of the cameras confirmed it. "It's a cut, on a diamond," he answered his own question, whispering it like a secret but obviously, the whole of Panem heard. "You know what cuts do? Sharpens it, makes it a weapon." Facet leant back against the chair, triumphantly declaring as he raised his hands, palms up, "And that's me." 

I didn't know what sickened me more, what he had said or the deafening applause from the audience. 

\--- 

By the time Tom's name was called, I was beginning to feel the bite. Marka's interview had been near-flawless with confidence, the girl possessing an attitude that could rival even Facet's ridiculous 'I was born with this name' glamour. From the four hours of hell I endured with Linwood yesterday we had both come to the reluctant agreement that confidence would be my play. But after seeing the previous two interviews, I was beginning to have second thoughts... 

"It's a pleasure to have you here, Tom," Alucio's voice, brimming with excitement, drifted from the speakers, calling my attention to the screen. 

I watched as Tom shook his hand with just as much cheerfulness. "The pleasure's all mine," he smiled widely and for a moment, I was snapped out of my troubles, all worries slowly beginning to leave my mind. 

Hiddleston was grinning sincerely, as if he was having the time of his life; he laughed at every joke Alucio sent his way and answered each question with a sort of... elegance I never realised he possessed. He sat comfortably in the chair and was generous with his smiles. I was never the type to pay much attention when tribute interviews were playing, but I don't think I have ever seen anyone behave like this before. Tom was just so... effortlessly cheerful. 

"Now, Tom, tell us about that score," Alucio said, straightening himself in his seat. "An eight! Now, I know that being from District 2, you have a long-term winning streak to uphold, but - pardon me from saying this - you don't come across as being as _able-bodied_ as your predecessors." He said it as tactfully as he could and Tom's smile broke into a mirthful "ehehehe" at the end of his observation, his head tilting backwards as he did. 

"Well, I dunno, Alucio," he said, a tinge laugh in his voice. "Looks _can_ be deceiving." 

"Oh I'm quite well-versed with that, Tom," he winked. "I don't look older than a hundred now, do I?" the host ran his hand dramatically through his hair and Tom erupted into a smaller bout of laughter. The camera was now panning across the audience, showing their reactions and I could see some of the Capitol citizens beaming at him, charmed by his unique personality. 

"A hundred? No! You don't look a day over sixteen," he returned with a reassuring pat on his hand, to which Alucio made a show of widening his eyes and touching his face. 

"Oh my, it must've worked **too** well then!" he exclaimed and the audience laughed, Tom joining in as well. A round of applause soon followed and I found myself feeling a little jealous at how so easily he won over their hearts. 

"Onto more serious matters now, Tom, hope you don't mind," Alucio spoke up suddenly, keeping tabs on the limited amount of time left. "Now, you volunteered for this year's Games and," he paused. "Things almost didn't go your way now, did it?" Tom's smile wavered but the mirth never left his eyes. I watched as he gave a reluctant nod of his head, admitting to the fact almost sheepishly. In the myriad of glimmering screens behind them, a clip of the reaping had started to play. I widened my eyes as I immediately recognised it. 

It was the fight I had seen during the recap on the train. 

I paid closer attention now, curiosity peaking to dangerous levels. There was the white marble hall of District 2. A sea of children. 

The lens focused. 

A handful of people were yelling while most others remained deathly silent; it was hard to make out what anyone was saying but then I saw a stocky, redheaded boy fighting against a wall of Peacekeepers. He was furious and was trying his best to break free. Now, the cameras zoomed in on Tom's solemn face, gaze cast downwards, right before a fist made painful contact with his jaw. 

My eyebrows furrowed as the recording froze and faded back to Tom and Alucio, both of them mildly perturbed by the scene. There was a closeup of Tom's face and looking at him more closely now, I could see a faint pink gash from where his skin has probably split from the impact. It had been covered with makeup but it was visible if you were looking for it; there was that characteristic light, scar-like sheen. Why hadn't I realised it before? 

"I don't think you could tell us what exactly happened now could you?" Alucio sounded half-hopeful as he said this and I saw Tom bite his lower lip tentatively. 

"Well, there's not much to tell now, really," he ran a hand through his curly hair, smoothing it down only for it to spring back up again. He didn't seem to mind. "After the boy tribute was reaped, the Capitol escourt asked whether anyone would like to volunteer," he explained patiently. "I volunteered, along with another boy, Sinter. However, according to the preset guidelines and rules, it was discovered that _I_ was the most eligible tribute..." There was a pause and I can't help but notice how long he was taking to answer one question. "Unfortunately, he didn't seem to agree and, inevitably..." Tom trailed off, lightly hitting the palm of his hand. 

There was a chorus of disappointed "ooh" from the crowd, probably sympathetic that he had been punched. He lowered his eyes bashfully at the reaction. 

Alucio was speaking again but I wasn't paying any attention, my brain trying to piece together this new bit of information. 

None of this made any sense. 

Tom _wanted_ to be here?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now, Chris, correct me if I am wrong, but four years ago, your brother was sitting in that very chair," Alucio said and I felt the grin fade from my lips.
> 
> "Yes," I murmured, not liking where this is going. "That is true."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you supportive words and comments, everyone. ='D They really keep me going. I love you all. 
> 
> I now present to you, chapter 7, written in less than 24 hours from the previous update. This chapter practically wrote itself, to be honest. (also, I may or may not have been listening to "[Safe and Sound](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzhAS_GnJIc)" while I was writing it...)

It was only when Nyssa's name was called did I finally snap awake from my dream-like reverie. Just like yesterday, she had arrived at the very last minute; I had heard her striding down the hall right before the District 6 boy's interview. She hadn't joined me, deciding instead to wait in the corridor outside. A pang of guilt weighed heavily in my chest; I couldn't help but think that she was distancing herself on purpose. That she was trying to make clear that she didn't want anything to do with me.

So that it would be easier for me to let her go. 

"What a beautiful young lady she is!" I glanced up as Alucio smiled to the audience, making animated hand gestures to something off-screen. Immediately, the cameras panned to the right, and at that moment, I felt my breath being taken away. 

She reminded me of the fairytale books my mother had showed me when I was younger. Dressed in a beautiful gown of autumn leaves and silk, I watched in awe as Nyssa walked to the middle of the stage, her footsteps careful, as if she was treading on ice. Her brilliant green eyes gleamed in contrast to the crimson and orange, lighting up with her smile as she glanced to the cameras. 

I couldn't believe how stunning she was. Ever since the ghastly tree costumes during the chariot rides, I had harboured a heavy resentment against our prep team, but now seeing Nyssa so radiant under the glimmering spotlights, all of that had melted away. 

Their interview consisted mostly of Alucio asking about her life in District 7, a casual exchange peppered with frequent compliments. She was asked to briefly explain how they made paper and she recounted how she had taught herself to fold paper flowers during her free time. The audience was an abundance of ooh's and aah's, marvelled by her "unique talent", as Alucio had coined it. 

"Well, Nyssa, it has been an absolute _joy_ having you here," he declared sincerely after a quick glance at his watch. "And before we run out of time, is there anything you'd like to say to your family back home?" His voice had grown softer as he said this and I could see Nyssa's gaze lowering to her feet. 

"Erm..." she started, not quite certain of how to begin. "I don't think I have much to say other than..." there was a pause as she looked back up, her forest green eyes wide and sad; they glimmered with unshed tears. She swallowed. "I love you, mumma, I love you so much..." She flashed a sad smile before adding with finality, "Take care." 

There was a heavy silence. 

No one said anything, not even when the buzzer went off. Alucio himself didn't utter a word, his lips now tightened into a thin line. The whispers in the waiting room had died out as well. 

A quick camera pan revealed most of the audience overcome with emotion, hands trembling as they clutched tightly at the loved ones beside them. I drew in a deep breath. What Nyssa did was something many tributes have considered doing, but never followed through. It was a thought mentors have always tried to dispel and discourage, something that just shouldn't - couldn't - be done. But from the way she had carried herself, right to the end of the interview, Nyssa had been filled with a steady certainty that never seemed to waver. A peaceful sureness that she was... ready to die. And she had embraced it as she uttered those last words to her mother. 

She had said goodbye. 

\--- 

The depressed aura emitting from the audience hadn't wavered one bit, not even when I was called to the stage. Somehow, I was incredibly thankful for this. I didn't feel as pressured to play the confident killing-machine now and I didn't think the audience was keen on seeing something like that after Nyssa's emotional farewell. 

Despite all that, an upbeat tune blared from the speakers as I made my appearance, a gentle reminder from the Gamemakers that mourning was not allowed. That the Games were something to be celebrated. That we were not people or children or human beings. We were tributes. 

"The fiery Chris Hemsworth, everyone!" Alucio boomed and about half of the audience erupted into an applause, snapping a few others out of their solemn moods. I was taken aback at how most of them had switched so easily from sorrow to glee. 

I swallowed and forced a grin, raising my hand to wave at the sea of people, all of whom - as each second ticked by - began to seem more and more inhumane. 

"Now for the interview most of you have been waiting for!" I barely caught the remark, glancing over at Alucio questioningly. He let out a jovial laugh at this and took my hand in his, firmly shaking it. "Poor boy, doesn't even know how popular he's become." There was a large pat on my back and I tried not to jolt forwards. What was he talking about? I think it would be doing more harm than good if the hosts kept overselling me like this. 

"Chris!!!" was a shrill cry from one of the audience members. "We love you!" I raised my eyebrows at the owner of the voice, a young girl with bright blue hair. 

"Haha, look at him, folks!" was the endearing comment as I settled down into my seat, utterly stunned. "Like a deer in the headlights." 

Well, any possibility of reverting to the confidence act would've been abolished by now, I figured; I could practically hear Linwood cursing. 

"Let me bring you up to speed with a couple of things, Chris," Alucio spoke up just as the cheers faded. "With your training and all, I didn't think you'd have the time to engage yourself in trivial things such as your fanbase," he smiled at me knowingly and I returned it, having no idea what he was talking about. "Girls have been going _absolutely_ gaga over you." 

Well... this was news to me. 

"Really?" I ask, making a huge show of how surprised I was. There was a small squeal of agreement from the crowd and, playing along, I flashed a grin in their direction. 

"Really," nods Alucio. From the corner of my eye, I see the screens behind us flickering. "The Reaping, the Chariot Rides," he recounts as clips of each began to play on the large monitors. There it was again, my "fiery" glare for all to see, piercingly sharp and unforgiving, every inch of me radiating a killer. I didn't quite understand. Was this was girls were attracted to these days? Anger? 

"There was a poll yesterday and we told the audience to vote for who they thought was "the hottest tribute of the year"," he remarked. "And you, sir, won by a _landslide_." The screens flashed to an animated chart with each tribute's photograph positioned next to gradually growing counter. When the numbers stopped increasing, I raised my eyebrows. I was leading by about a few hundred votes. 

"Oh wow..." I couldn't help but laugh a little from embarrassment. "I had no idea I was that likeable." 

"What?" was Alucio's shocked exclamation. He placed a hand over his heart as if I had said something incredibly absurd. "Are you saying that the girls in your District aren't throwing themselves at you left, right and centre?" 

"I..." Come to think of it, I never really paid much attention to the girls, or anything other than taking care of Liam; but I couldn't possibly say that. "I was always preoccupied..." I explained before quickly adding as an afterthought, "With work." 

"You're already working, Chris?" he seemed surprised at this. 

"Yeah, since I was sixteen. I work with the lumberjacks," I shrugged. 

"So you cut down trees?" _No, I dress them in ribbons and lace._ I bit back the snarky remark. 

"Pretty much." 

"What sort of trees?" His questions were becoming slightly ridiculous now. Regardless, I answered them. At least we have something to talk about. 

"I dunno... Oak... Pine... Redwood sometimes," I listed them down. Was this even significant to the Games? 

The excited "oooohhh" and the applause from the audience caught me off-guard. 

Suddenly, it hit me. Right... none of them had ever worked a day their lives. They were the type of ignorant, spoilt people who would consider keying in more than seven buttons in a row 'hard labour'. I stopped myself from scowling. This wasn't the time to show my distaste; I was supposed to be the charming, oblivious heartthrob. The tribute sponsors would invest good money in. A smile spread across my face. 

I could beat Tom in his own game. 

"Now, Chris, correct me if I am wrong, but four years ago, your brother was sitting in that very chair," Alucio said and I felt the grin fade from my lips. 

"Yes," I murmured, not liking where this is going. "That is true." 

The chatter of the audience died down now, all attention drawn to the stage. I bit my lip as the glossy floor flashed a myriad of bright colours, the screens behind us spurring back to life. Anticipating what was about to follow, I closed my eyes. 

_"So, Luke, how are you feeling? Confident?"_ Slightly fuzzy, I winced as Alucio's voice crackled from the speakers. My eyes opened but I didn't want to turn to the screens; I knew exactly what the audience was watching. My throat tightened. 

_"I wish I was, Alucio,"_ my older brother's laugh drifted into my ears, causing my hand to tense around the cushion cover. A disdained sigh left my lips. It's been four long years since I last heard his voice. 

_"What would you consider your motivation for the Games?"_ It skipped a bit of the introductory beginning. I know this even though I had watched his interview only once, four years ago, on the very night it was filmed. 

_"My brothers,"_ I found myself involuntarily mouthing the words as he said it. _"Liam and Chris. They mean the world to me."_

A pause. 

I assumed the crackly recording had stopped because there was that deathly silence again, heavy and weighed down with lead. The spotlights shone as brightly as ever, to the point I was fearing I'd go blind. I didn't avert my eyes though, reluctant to face the sea of Capitol citizens, to see their painted faces contorted in concern they had no right to feel. 

Luke wasn't their brother. They hadn't even known him before the Games. They had no right to believe that they could ever understand what I went through. 

"Chris." My head snapped to Alucio as he said my name. His pale eyes were sad and full sympathy. I hated him even more now, disgusted at how easily my emotions were being manipulated. How dare he. How dare he play that clip. Memories of clutching young Liam during countless sleepless nights filled my mind, stinging, poisoning. 

"You are the only tribute - aside from the ones from 1, 2 and 4 - that volunteered to be in this year's Games," he began. 

"Yes," I muttered bitterly. 

"The boy who was reaped was Liam, am I right?" his voice was tender, as if he was approaching a wounded animal. I didn't comment about it; in their eyes, I probably was. 

I swallowed. "Yes." 

"It must be heartbreaking," Alucio commented and I cast my gaze to the floor. "That he might lose another brother." 

"He won't," I snarled, unable to hold back my anger anymore. Brimming with determination, I looked at him squarely in the eyes. "I promised him," I drew in a deep breath. "I promised him that I would make it back." 

I saw a camera shift over just as I spat the next few words. 

"And I **will** keep that promise." 

\--- 

"Look guys, it's spitfire, ready to burn down another forest," I was greeted with a coy sneer from one of the male tributes as I staggered back into the waiting room. Adrenaline coursed through my veins still, reverberating from my chest and pounding against my eardrums. My hands were tightened into tensed fists and I ignored the sting of nails against my palm. 

I spotted her in the far corner, teasingly lounging against Facet, surrounded by the group of Careers. 

Hastily, I strode over to them, bubbling with what could only be described as pitch black anger. I hadn't been too sure of anything when I woke up this morning, but after that hellish three minutes under the Capitol's scrutinising eye, I knew what had to be done. What I had to tell them. 

Tom glanced up from his twiddling fingers as I approached, stunned to see me suddenly so close. I paid no attention to him and shifted my gaze over to Marka. The chatter around us died like a fire quelled by snow. For a moment, there was silence, neither one of us speaking as we stared at each other. Tentative, inquiring, studying. 

Finally, I drew in a breath and broke the stillness, voicing the words I had been assembling ever since I stepped off the stage: 

"I'll do it..." 

I paused before resolutely declaring, 

"I'll join the Careers."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, I told myself. This is it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys. If you're reading this, let me thank you all so much for your comments, bookmarks and kudos. They really, really help. c: Also, can I just apologise to all of you who are beginning to hate me for the lack of Hiddlesworthy interaction up to this point. ^^; I assure you, however, that there will be almost nothing _but_ Hiddlesworthy interaction from the next chapter onwards. Your patience has paid off. =D
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for supporting me and please drop me a comment or send me kudos below. I love hearing what you all have to say. =D

Linwood stands in the elevator with me, accompanying me to the rooftop where he says the hovercraft will take me to the arena. What little space between us was filled with the soft whirr of gears and cables turning above our heads. The sounds did nothing to quell my growing insecurities. I wish he'd say something or at least send a snarky comment my way but he does neither of that, leaving me to mull over the hazy recollections of the last time I had ridden in the cold ice box of an elevator. The very night before.

" _I didn't expect you to be up here again._ " 

The voice was distant now, muffled, as if contained by a body of swirling water. Despite the darkness of the night and the intensity of the winds, the anger in my veins and the uncertainty in my heart, I remembered him clearly. The fragile shoulders, his narrow face, the blue-striped shirt that flapped in the breeze and those wide grey eyes that reminded me so much of the rain. 

" _I'm not here to be friends with you_ ," I remember my snarky reply.

" _Truthfully, Chris, I don't know what you're here for, but if it's to yell at me again, you best be on your way back to your room._ " Of course I took that as a challenge. He was from another District, a Career, a **trained killer**. And that made him my enemy.

" _Is that a threat?_ "

" _Well, I_ don't know," he had shot back. " _You seem to know everything about me so why don't you tell me?_ "

There had been silence after that, from exasperation, fatigue or just plain anger, I couldn't remember. My memories were a blur, a swirling amorphous jumble of words and lights and music reminiscent of the brightly coloured interviews mere hours before. In my mind's eye, time had lost meaning, shards floated about without any respect to order. I saw Tom's back turned towards me, stark against the indigo backdrop of the sky. Then, I saw Nyssa's head hanging over her clasped hands while she prayed at her bedside. The knowing glint in Marka's eyes as she smirked at my declaration. Facet's hungry glare; Sheer's indiscreet wink; Nyssa leaving her gingersnaps behind on the table; the arrows on the floor; Tom's outstretched hand; the first time I heard his laugh. Even Luke and Liam found their way into the intangible knots of my memories, made incoherent and blurry by the copious amounts of wine Brill had made us toast to during our final dinner.

But there was an exchange of words that rang clear through my head. Under what circumstances they were said, I wasn't sure anymore; maybe I had asked Tom why he was on the roof again or maybe he had just begun to talk to himself. Regardless, they echoed and repeated, reverberated and resounded like a murmur you'd whisper into an empty cave. I didn't think they bore any ill-intent, so I allowed it to run its course through my mind.

" _... I have this saying... If you've got something to say, say it from the rooftops._ "

The elevator lurched to a jerky halt and I had to take a step forward to stop myself from losing balance. Linwood cast me an inquisitive look but said nothing, keeping his muddy eyes trained forwards and glaring at something that lay beyond the sleek metal doors and the Training Centre building. I didn't know what it was and I didn't question. Somehow, the five days we've spent together had totalled to a sort of... unspoken mutual understanding of each other. I didn't want to admit it, but there was just _something_ about him that had grown on me.

"So, fireball... big day today," was his gruff mutter as the elevator doors slid open.

"Yeah..." I nodded in agreement, though hesitant. "Big day," I echoed.

We stepped out into the open air of the rooftops, though I know that that itself was another one of the Capitol's lies. Brill had told me once that the entire top half of the building was protected by an impenetrable barrier; one of the "fun facts" that she frequently powdered Nyssa and I with. Like always, Brill was wrong about the concept of 'fun'. The thought had only managed to fill me with a deep sense of dread. It told me that the Capitol was willing to go to whatever means necessary to keep others out... as well as the tributes in.

"Well, I won't be meeting you in-person for awhile after this," said Linwood. I was about to roll my eyes when he continued. "Better make sure you do."

I pondered over his words for awhile. Was Linwood... wishing me luck?

"Yeah, I hope I make it back too," I replied uncertainly.

"Luke hoped he'll make it back," he murmured. "You're **making** it back." And with that, he placed a heavy hand onto my shoulder, his knobbly fingers squeezing my collarbone. I felt the warmth leave my face at the way he had said it. Hopeful, almost, with a tinge of sorrow. It was then I considered the fact that maybe Linwood had been the one to mentor my brother...

I don't know what effect knowing that would have now, but that didn't stop the shock that followed. I had always assumed one of the other victors had been his trainer. There had been other Victors from my district, of course. I've seen them spending their days splurging coins in the market; but rarely did I ever come across Linwood when I made my rounds to buy grain and milk... especially after the yearly reapings. I paused. Was that because he had been the one to mentor most of the recent tributes? The thought was not impossible.

I was lost for words. "Linwood, I--"

Like water breaking through a dam, the air was suddenly filled with the overpowering, shrill hum of machinery. I had to cup my hands over my ears as the hovercraft neared, looming over us like a dark cloud bringing a storm. I swallowed and glanced at my mentor... Luke's mentor, all of a sudden feeling so lost and confused. Linwood had been looking at me, an unfathomable gleam in his brown-green eyes.

You can do it, he mouthed.

I allowed myself a moment's hesitation but he seemed to have taken that as weakness.

He grabbed my arms and gave me a firm shake, gripping me tightly as if I held every single hope he ever had. He said the words out loud now; I could hear it over the high screech of the engines.

"You **CAN** do it!" it blared into my ears.

From the corner of my eye, I see a glint of silver spilling from the side of the hovercraft. A metal ladder tumbled down and unwound, the end of it coming to a clattering rest by my feet.

Linwood yelled something I didn't quite catch before giving me a rough shove. Disoriented, I staggered a few steps back, latching onto the ladder to stop myself from falling. I wanted to ask him to repeat the last bit but I found myself unable to speak... or move... my fingers frozen in place along the metal rung.

As I was pulled into the hovercraft like a stone statue, I cast my mentor one last glare, not at all impressed by his methods.

And through his amused, cocky smirk, I could’ve sworn I saw tears.

\---

The room I was led to seemed far too large for a single person.

The ceiling stretched far above my head, to the very top of the hovercraft, I guessed, judging from the flickering lights spilling down on the grated floor. A row of seats lined the entire left wall, each of them empty and with safety belts buckles clattering along their sides. It seemed all too extravagant for each tribute to be transported this way. The fuel used for each craft could be put to better use, I thought acidly as I took my seat. My left hand was pressed over the stiff, angry swell on my right arm, where they had injected the tracker into me. Back in District 7, the Peacekeepers would pierce the ears of cattle with tags and write the names of their respective households on them. I couldn't help but akin myself to the scrawny goats and sheep that freely roamed the marketplace.

"Would you like anything to drink?" the officer who had tagged me asked.

I stopped myself from snapping back a harsh 'no', taking a moment to gauge myself, my body. I was about to step into the arena where I will fight for my life; I won't be coming out for at least two weeks... If I'm alive, that is.

I winced at the morbid thought. 

"Water, please," I rasped, hoping that it would be enough to quell the parasitic anxiety in my chest.

\---

Thirty minutes later, I was in the launch room and the unease hadn't died a bit.

The basket of fruit and clear glass bottles of drink were left ignored as I paced up and down, down and up, side to side, occasionally running my hand along the clear tube that would bring me up into the Games. The throbbing tracker at my arm and the claustrophobia from being underground only made me feel even more like a caged animal. I bit my lip. That's what I am, isn't it? A plaything, a pet, a spectacle for their enjoymen-- I stopped myself. This was not the time to let my resentment for the Capitol get the better of me.

" _Focus on the goal_ ," Luke's phantom of a voice whispered from my memories.

A cool shiver ran down my spine, as if someone had broken a vial of liquid ice along my back. I drew in a deep breath. " _If you keep your goals in mind, you'll think clearer._ " My thirteen year old self had listened in awe to his words, grasping tightly onto each and every one, taking them all to heart. To me, Luke had been more of a father than our real father ever was. His memory was what had been fuelling me this entire time, right from the moment I volunteered for Liam.

I'll do him proud. I will win this for him.

'Attention tributes, the Games will begin shortly,' a cool female voice drifted in from unseen speakers. 'Please enter the respective launch tubes to prevent any inconveniences and delays.'

This is it, I told myself. This is it.

The metal plate 'clang'ed as I stepped into the tube and I looked down curiously my boots. I took this moment to survey the clothes they had provided me with one last time, still uncertain of what lies in store for us later on. The shoes were heavy and reflected light in a bizarre manner that wasn't like leather or rubber. Straps and buckles ran down each side, hinting that they were built for security. Security against what? I turned my heel to examine the other side. They didn't seem too runnable, but neither were the lumberjack boots back at District 7. To me, the weight bore certain stability that was familiar. I wasn't sure about the other tributes though.

The trousers and jacket were bulkier than the material of our training suits, reminding me of a stiffer, more durable form of leather. Surprisingly, it only rustled softly when I moved, probably a stealth factor added in for the Games. The shirt underneath seemed to be the most normal article of clothing, despite the odd sheen of the inner lining. My survival trainer had explained that this sheen was characteristic of heat-reflecting fabric. Was I going somewhere cold?

All in all, the entire outfit was reminiscent of the clothes I wore at work, sans the extravagance of the high-tech cloth. Durable, weighty boots and thick jackets and trousers for the cold. It was always awkward the first time, but once you get around it, chopping wood is an easy task.

The familiarity of it all was unnerving.

They were doing this on purpose.

The platform abruptly rising almost sent me falling to my knees but I held my ground, my back and legs stiffened from pure nerves. I shoved my hands into the jacket pockets to hide my shaking, drawing in deep breaths that echoed along the glass walls and into my ears. Sunlight spilled down onto my head and I winced at the brightness, forced to squint as I was brought higher and higher up. Into the arena.

For a moment, I was completely blind, relying purely on sound and smell to gauge my surroundings. A second ticked by. Everything was silent and there was no scent. I stopped myself from panicking and forced a cough.

That seemed to have cleared my system because I was greeted with the cheerful chirrup of birds and the soft, characteristic fragrance of... pine?

As my eyes adjusted, the flurry of colours solidified to more precise forms of trees and grass and mountains and clouds. I had to rub at them once before I could coherently make sense of it all.

Cornucopia stood tall, proud and shimmering gold right next to a large tree I couldn't name the species of. It looked like a cross between an oak and something... Probably the result of a Capitol experiment. The branches stretched far and wide and the base was uneven, as if covered by large warts the size of apples. I took my attention away from the tree, to the mouth of the horn, eager to examine the supplies they had provided us with this year.

There were none.

I started to panic again, not keen on the prospect of a great bloody fist fight. Running a hand through my hair, I took one quick glance around to inspect the arena for anything nearby I could use as a weapon. There were forests of pine behind me and thickets of other trees - unfamiliar hybrids, just like the one at Cornucopia - to my right. The rocky tips of mountains seemed to be present at each direction, providing a perimeter of some sort to the Games. There were far off though, so I didn't fret too much about running space. A number of them were relatively close though, the morning shadow almost touching the edge of the tribute circle. In the distance westwards, there was a bumpy stretch of white-grey rocks and boulders.

But the problem now was weapons and food, not mountains and hills.

"Pssssssst," was a soft hiss. I turned my head to see Sheer a distance away, looking right at me. In fact, she seemed to be the only one looking at me; everyone else's attention was eagerly fixated on the tree. She raised her finger and pointed towards it.

Taking the message, I glanced back to the middle of the circle, wondering what on earth they were all looking at.

Then I saw it.

The leaves were _glittering_.

More perplexed than ever, I simply gawked at it. Was this normal for them? Did all the other Districts have trees like this that shimmer in the sunlight? I was completely lost and Kanaky's booming voice counting down wasn't making my situation any easier. Close to giving up, I looked back at Sheer to tell her I had no idea what I was supposed to do. But something curious caught my eye... a metal teapot on the edge of the branches.

I almost slapped myself when I realised it.

The supplies were _in the branches_.

Then my face paled.

We were supposed to climb the monstrous tree... in our heavy boots... and survive the bloodbath... at the same time?

**Five.**

This was not good, this is a lot more dangerous. A fall from one of the middle-branches could snap someone's neck.

**Four.**

That was probably the point, though. We're just cattle after all. The more interesting the deaths, the better.

**Three.**

I see a few of the tributes edging away from the middle, ready to run in the opposite direction.

**Two.**

They've got the right idea. I should run. No, wait, I can't. The Careers, I'm supposed to--

**One.**

...

In that moment, Time stopped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was not the time to show weakness, I reminded myself. The whole of Panem is watching.
> 
> I keep my eyes forward, locked onto the goal. My only goal.
> 
> _The tree, I have to get to the tree._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some exciting news for my bilingual readers: Penance has been translated into Italian by the fantastic [balthazarstolethetardis](http://balthazarstolethetardis.tumblr.com)! =D Here is the link to [Chapter 1](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=1119120&i=1) and [Chapter 2](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=1131598&i=1) of her incredible translation! c:
> 
> An additional note: My undying love also goes out to [panda-danna](http://panda-danna.tumblr.com/) and [sherlocktardisbluescarf](http://sherlocktardisbluescarf.tumblr.com/) for reading through this chapter and giving me their input. If it wasn't for them, Chapter 9 would still be unpublished. 
> 
> Also, a huge amount of thanks and love to all of my readers and commenters and bookmarkers and kudos-ers. Penance would have never made it this far without your support. =) I hope you'll enjoy this extra-long chapter, just for you. <3

I’m running.

The moment the gong sounded, I had broken into a feverish sprint towards the glimmering tree. I found myself moving on instinct alone, pure gut-feeling, with the burn of adrenaline coursing through my veins and a cold numbness blooming in my skull. My breaths come out bated and shallow, bringing a menthol chill cascading down my throat. The crunch and thump of my boots against the ground thundered in my ears like a thousand falling redwood trees. For a moment, everything else had melted away, ceased to exist, dissipating into the intangible backdrop of green and pine. And I was left in a formless world, whose only horizon bore the black, chalky outline of a monstrous tree with branches of stars.

A sharp, pained shriek from my right pierces me like a spear, jolting the ground beneath my feet.

I stumble but quickly regain balance.

There is another scream but I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. I was sure that, no, I _knew_ I would hesitate at the sight. The sight of the first kill. And that wouldn’t be good for the sponsors; no one wanted to see a tribute go soft. I force out a cough to distract myself and to ease the tension in my frost-laced throat.

This was not the time to show weakness, I reminded myself. The whole of Panem is watching.

I keep my eyes forward, locked onto the goal. My only goal.

_The tree, I have to get to the tree._

The sound of a cannon ruptures my mantra, cruelly catching me unaware. I find myself wholly slammed into the real world, where the ground is made of soil and the birdcall is full of fright.

My footsteps falter. I'm suddenly extremely aware of the pain budding in my knees. I try to ignore it and force myself to speed up again, but the newly-sparked unease didn't waver. _This wasn’t right_ , I thought. This wasn’t right. It's the first day. The Gamemakers only sound the cannons in the afternoon on the first day, when the bloodbath died down and the fatally wounded had succumbed to their injuries. When all who could’ve been saved weren’t and the death toll was concrete.

For the cannon to go off at each death now, it can only mean one thing: most of the tributes had taken their chances with nature and decided to flee Cornucopia. That one minute on the tribute plates would've given them enough time to weigh out their choices. They were probably halfway through the pineforests now, running towards momentary safety. _Smart_ , I thought. At least they’re sharp enough to realise how impossible it was to grab anything from the tree _and_ survive the climb down.

But I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved by the less severe bloodbath, or to dread the increased “hunting” I would be forced to do. As a Career.

A _Career_.

The word still stung.

 **BLAM!** Another cannon rang out, sending flocks of birds squawking into the air.

With a deep exhale, I reach the base of the monstrous tree and immediately begin to grapple the giant, apple-sized warts littered across the surface. They filled my hand perfectly, like handholds. I found this peculiar; it was almost as if the tree was _made_ to be climbed... I wouldn't be surprised if it was. It wouldn't be the first time the Gamemakers introduced one of their laboratory experiments to the Games. It was probably the only place they could show off how clever they were.

I hoist myself upwards along the trunk, gingerly fighting back the urge to wince. The bark digs sharply into my fingers and grazes across my palms but I push on, fuelled by the rustling of tributes behind me. I guessed there were still a few who prioritised the weapons high enough to attempt climbing the tree. I shouldn’t let my guard down. These were the desperate ones. One good tug and one wrong slip and my neck’s as good as broken.

Another cannon blares into my ears, and when the ringing in my head subsides, I hear the screams.

Even though my heart was still pounding feverishly against my eardrums, the unfolding chaos beneath me is unmistakeable. I swallow and try to block out the characteristic sounds of the bloodbath. I bitterly remembered the brutal Day 1 replays the Capitol made us watch. But those playbacks were nothing compared to this. This year was different. It sounded, it felt different.

The grotesque chorus of pleas and thuds and cracks could only be described as “torture”. I bite my lip as one particular boy started to cry as he yelled, sounding almost deranged as he begged for death. A shudder ran down my spine as I realised what was happening. The shortage of prey would have spurred the other Careers to make the few kills as slow and interesting as possible.

This was all for the Capitol’s enjoyment. The Games are only good if the deaths were entertaining. An anguished scream vibrated from right underneath me, tapering off to a muffled gurgle.

My grip falters and my hand slips along a patch of red moss.

And I’m falling.

The cannon sounds off just as a sturdy branch knocks the wind out of my lungs. A pillar of fire licks bruises across my back and the slime on my palm is unnervingly akin to blood, but I’m thankful I hadn’t fallen all the way down. I didn’t want to admit it, but my fingers were trembling. _That was close… That was very close…_ I thought as I coaxed myself to inhale. I’m alive and nothing seems to be broken. _I still have a chance. I still have a chance._ It takes me a few seconds to distinguish the stars in my head from the glinting of weapons in the higher branches. As my eyes start to focus, I make out the dark, flickering backs of a few non-Careers as they scaled higher up the tree. Thankfully none of them took my fall as an invitation for a fight. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of a scuffle in the leaves and branches, suspended a dangerous few metres above the ground.

A loud rustling from the branch below tells me someone else is on their way.

“What’s wrong, spitfire?” Facet sneered cockily as he climbs past with disgusting ease. “Slipped and fell? Poor baby…” I have a mind to kick his shin as a thanks for his concern but I’m more focused on the bloodied dagger he’s holding in his hand… and the familiar head of long, straight hair he’s closely shadowing.

_Nyssa._

_No, no no, no_ , my mind retorts. _It’s too soon._ Too soon. My body is still petrified from the fall and my breaths are a stream of gasps and coughs but I heave myself from the branch. I try to choke out a shout, a warning, _anything_ , but nothing past a grimy whisper leaves my gaping mouth.

I’m caught between fear and anger. Why hadn’t she run away? How did she think she can survive this bloodbath? The questions roll through my mind as I grapple the knobs again, shakily climbing after them. Even if she could outclimb the Careers, how is she going to get down without being killed? “Ny-Nyssa!” I rasped but it’s overpowered by the screams that now freely radiate from the chaos below.

Facet’s closing in and Nyssa's still unaware.

And I’m too far away to stop what is about to happen.

He grabs her by the hair and wrenches a fearful cry from her lips. From where I am, I see her trembling hands holding onto the branches above her head for dear life. Facet jerks his grip, trying to drag her down but she doesn’t yield, instead trying to reach for something a small distance away. I squint my eyes. It was blocked by a cluster of leaves, whatever it was, I couldn't see it. A weapon perhaps, to defend herself? Or something to throw at him?

It doesn’t matter; from the look on her face, it’s probably too far away.

I’m climbing as if _my_ life depended on it, ignoring the stinging on my hands that’s starting to burn like fire. I think I’ve cut my palm but I can’t tell whether it’s blood on my palms or more liquefying red moss. Worries of it being poisonous leak out of my mind as I desperately scramble towards Facet’s ankle.

Another cannon practically breaks my eardrums and I’m fearing that the next one would be for Nyssa.

“CHRIS! What are you **doing**?!” someone’s screaming at me but I pay them no heed. I’m getting closer now, very close, almost close enough to sabotage Facet’s kill; but the dagger is just as dangerous, being drawn higher and higher, poised for the fatal blow. He’s balancing his feet on two branches. Whoever was calling me is screaming something intangible. The pain in my hands is leaking into the hollow of my wrists. Nyssa’s being reeled in by her hair and she’s a second away from entering the knife’s range. It’s swinging up now… and then down.

I curl my hand into a fist and promptly slam it into the back of Facet’s knee.

There’s a groan. Another scream. The thud of wood. The rustle of leaves. A pain in my shoulder. Bright, bright red. Gurgles. The shuddering handle of an embedded dagger. My breath in my throat. Desperation. Shattered hope. The wind whistling through the branches. A tear. Facet’s angry glare. Blood.

A cannon.

\---

There's the sickening sound of my skull making contact with solid wood. My vision is filled with clear discs of light and green, shifting feverishly right before my eyes. I try to sit up but a large fist on my diaphragm sends me back down to the branch. It twists and jerks deeper and sends an explosion of stars flickering before my eyes. I gasp and try to make sense of everything, my hands grappling at the intruding fist. My cheek is throbbing and there's a salty tang pooling in my mouth. It takes me a second of staring at what I assume is Facet's other hand to realise he’s punched me. I cough and try to push him off but there are three of them now and none of them are keeping still. Everything’s starting to spin and there’s an unwavering, disdained throb at my throat. Nyssa... Nyssa was gone...

The hand moves from my gut, to my shoulder and I was held up before I'm slammed against the branch again. He’s pulling at my fringe and forcing me to look at him and I watch as the two Facets slowly meld into one. His lips were moving the whole time but I hadn't heard anything. I'm regaining consciousness now and along with it, a deep pang of dread as I realise the consequence of my actions.

Facet's glaring down at me, his eyes narrowed and his pupils full of pitch black anger. A line of blood streaks along the side of his face, stemming from a fresh wound at his temple. Did he hit himself when I punched his leg? Or was that already there before?

“WHAT was THAT?!” My ears started to work again and I'm greeted by his deafening roar. He swung his fist down to my other cheek and I move aside, narrowing dodging the blow. His knuckle brushed roughly against my ear before colliding with hard, solid wood. I felt the branch shudder beneath me and his loud cry of pain pierced my eardrums.

“FACET! LET. HIM. GO!” someone’s yelling from the ground and it’s the same person who was screaming at me before. I recognise the voice as Marka's but I’m not relieved; she sounds equally angry. Fear begins to bubble in my gut. Did they consider me a traitor now? Had I just thrown away my biggest chance of surviving the Games? Am I a target now instead of an ally? Should I run? Would I survive if I did? I’m so high up in the tree, it would be easy for Facet to just kick me off.

“HE. HIT ME!”

“You’re not five years old, Facet! Let. Him. GO!” 

I saw a vein throb at his neck as Marka said that. “So you’re siding with him now?! Is that it?!!”

“I’m not siding with anyone, just let him go!"

Facet’s seething with anger, probably not used to being ordered around. I don’t know what Marka’s planning to do but I’m relieved that it’s at least prolonging my life. I begin to worm out of Facet’s grip when he sends a furious glare right at me. He grabs my throat and I start to panic from how easily he’s cutting off my air flow. I try to push him off with my wrist like how I do when I wrestle with Liam. But those fights were good-natured and Liam is much smaller. So it only makes sense that when doing the same to a trained killer that it takes a lot more effort.

But it’s taking too much effort and darkness is beginning to cloud my vision.

Marka’s screaming again but it sounds like she’s miles away. I’m kicking at Facet now, trying to land a solid blow on his gut but all I hit is air. My grunts aren't making it out my mouth. They get caught in my neck, throbbing right underneath his vice-like grip. The starry flickering from the weapons in the tree start to dull and I’m struggling for breath that never enters my lungs. Just as I think that it's all over and I'm about to die, just as I start to drown in the vacuum of my shadows, I'm suddenly freed and oxygen fills my throat.

The last thing I see is Facet’s satisfied smirk as he lets go.

And the last thing I feel is my body falling through the branches.

\---

_Luke is shaking at his head at me and I know that can’t be a good thing._

_“Really, Chris? Really?” he’s trying to sound authoritative but I can hear the amusement glimmering in his voice. I hold back a laugh. “Hiding red dye in the Willand’s wash basin?”_

_“It was Liam’s idea!” I retorted and there’s a prompt “It wasn’t me!” from somewhere by the fireplace._

_“Well, who’s going to take responsibility then?” asked Luke as he folded his arms across his chest. He had a grin on his face now, hidden from the concerned adults crowding behind him, and his blue eyes twinkled in the amber light._

_“You are!” Liam and I answered in unison and he tackles us both to the hearth, tickling us until our stomachs started to hurt. In giddy desperation, Liam fesses up to our prank, yelling out “I am! I am! It’s all my fault!” but I don’t yield as easily, keeping up my strong front despite the unsuppressable hiccoughs and laughter._

_“Luke, you should really discipline them properly!” our mother says disapprovingly from the doorway._

_“Aww they’re just boys, mam,” he brushes off, defending us. He always did that. “I’m sure I was just as bad when I was six.” He flicks me in the ear as he says this and I obstinately stick out my tongue._

_“They’ll be the death of me but I love them all the same.”_

I wake up with a jolt, as if I had only just made contact with the ground. Almost immediately, my body responds, streams of white hot pain shooting up across my back and along my right arm. I groan and curl up on my side, cradling my shoulder and squeezing it to relieve the ache. I could feel my pulse underneath my fingertips, strong and fleeting like the wings of a frightened bird. “Relax,” someone tells me but I just _can’t_. My head’s spinning and it feels like there’s a gigantic lump stuck in my throat. My gag reflex is telling me to barf but there’s nothing in my stomach to choke out. It's a frustrating sensation, as if you’re slowly being robbed of all self-control and it's taking me the last of mine to stop myself from whimpering. “ _Relax_ ,” the voice repeats, closer now. “It’s the poison, it’s in your bloodstream.” 

_Poison?_ What poison? My eyes try to focus on whoever's speaking but all I see is a milky white shadow. 

“The poison from the tree,” the voice answers. I didn't even realise I had spoken out loud. 

_The tree?_ I try to recall. My memory is a hazy mess. _I fell from the tree._ How am I alive? 

“The branches cushioned your fall.” Whoever it was that’s speaking… is being very patient with me, I realised. 

But then, a sharp pain assaults my left hand and my fragmented vision is engulfed by black. 

\--- 

The next time I come to, I hear an owl coaxing me out of my feverish sleep. 

Everything’s dark now and all I can make out are the bold, black streaks of pinetrees stretching up towards a glimmering night sky. My eyelids are heavy and so is my chest, as if someone had piled rocks into my ribcage while I was unconscious. A soft crackling at my left ear causes me to jerk from the ground I was lying upon, nerves tensed and shoulders knitted. Immediately, I’m filled with regret and I fall back to the cushy bundle of cloth, tightly gripping my pounding head—Wait. Cloth? 

I brush my fingers along the mound of balled-up fabric that forms my makeshift pillow. The soft rustle it makes tells me it’s the same material as the jackets the Gamemakers provided us with. But that didn’t make any sense because I was still wearing mine... I stiffen. Don’t tell me they were harvested off the bloodbath corpses before the hovercrafts took them away? The idea was unnerving. 

“Ouch,” came a small whisper from my left, the same direction as the crackling. 

Gingerly, I turn my body, slowly shifting my weight so that I was on my side. A small tinge of deja vu throbs along my temple with the pain but I brush it off. As I suspected, there was a small campfire beside me, and from the thickness of the firewood bark, it had just been made recently. Two figures were on the other side, hunched over by the light of the flames. The shadows hid their faces from view but from the blurry outline, I knew they were Careers. The other tributes were far too small. They seemed to be engrossed in something in their hands. From the way their fingers moved, I figured that they were knotting something... or weaving, I wasn’t sure. 

One of them glanced up and looked straight at me, as if they had been told to periodically check that I was still there. 

This only secured my impending dread. I knew it; I was a prisoner now. That stunt at the tree cost me their trust and my life. They were going to kill me. But... why was I still alive? 

I looked at my captors questioningly and the one who had looked up - a solemn-looking sixteen year old I recognised as the girl from District 4 - lightly tugged the sleeve of the person next to her. _Where were the others?_ I couldn’t help but think. Were they out hunting? 

To my mild surprise, Tom was the other one who had been assigned to keep watch. He gave me an expressionless glance before looking back down at whatever was in his hands. The girl from 4 seemed taken aback by this and mutely pulled at his jacket again. I raised an eyebrow. Were there predators in the woods? Why were they so keen on keeping quiet? 

“You’re awake,” he murmured with disinterest, as if obliged to speak. 

“... Yeah,” I replied uncertainly. I wasn’t sure what sort of answer he expected for a comment like that. To my mild surprise, he didn’t press further, instead continuing with his work. When the uneasy silence threatened to fall again, I asked. “Where are the others?” 

“The others?” 

“The Careers,” I amended. 

“Hunting.” 

He had said it so nonchalantly, so offhandishly, it plucked at a nerve. I bit my lip. “Didn’t expect you of all people to say so little...” I mutter bitterly under my breath. 

Tom cocked an eyebrow. 

“You know, since you’re always _so_ keen on talking and so full of sayings,” it sounded harsher than I had intended but I didn’t care. He deserved it after all. “‘Say it from the rooftops’ and all that.” 

The quietness that followed and the sincere confusion in his grey eyes began to alarm me. 

“ _What_?” 

“You said that,” I accused, not liking how stupid he was making me sound. The District 4 girl had the same perplexed look on her face. “Last night... when we were on the roof.” 

The Capitol anthem blared from all around us, clear and crisp as if an orchestra had been lurking in the shadows, playing the ominous tune between the pinetrees. There was the sharp clatter of wings as a flock of birds took flight. I gave Tom a glare that said ‘We’re not done yet’ before the gaunt, solemn faces of the Fallen lit up the night sky. A deep sense of dread bubbled in my gut, eating away at my chest. I was not ready for this. My fingers tensed around the jackets under my head. I was not ready to see Nyssa’s face again. The hologram in the sky would be the photograph they took of us before the Games, but I was sure all I’d see is her anger. Her silent anger and her betrayed, accusing glare, like the one she had shot me with during our training. ‘ _Why didn’t you save me?_ ’ she’d demand. ‘ _Why didn’t you save me?_ ’ 

I took in a deep breath and noted the deaths. 

Both tributes from 3 were gone. I remembered their faces from Training; small and frail and bespectacled. They had probably been the first to fall. 

District 5 lost both their tributes as well. This meant that all the Careers survived, as expected. 

The girl from 6. She looked so little, it stung to imagine her being tortured to death. 

The boy from 10. 

Wait. They're already at District 10. 

That can’t be right, I saw her die. 

I saw Facet swing the knife down and the blood splatter across the bark. I saw her body go limp and the life slowly fade out of her eyes. I saw everything, right down to the single, silver tear running down her face. 

I saw her die, I was sure of it. 

My breaths were shallow and I glared down at my bandaged palms. I looked back up to the sky and then at Tom, whose nonchalance unnerved me the most. Didn't he see her die? Wasn't he there as well? He hadn't climbed the tree but surely, her body would have fallen to the ground. I didn't understand. 

As if sensing that I was staring at him, his gaze fell on me and I recoiled, no longer sure what was real. 

And who wasn’t. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But in a deep whisper, almost inaudible to everyone else, she added in a low undertone, "Gamemakers."
> 
> That seemed to have brought a leadlike silence to the clearing, equal in both weight as well as toxicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penance has received a hundred kudos! I would have never expected this to happen so soon and I am extremely grateful for all the support you've been giving. ='D Expect a photomanip or a photoset or something from me in the near future as a thanks to all of you, my fantastic readers. c=
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for the bookmarks, kudos, likes, comments and everything. <3

They told me the supplies were no longer in the tree.

At first, caught off-guard with a mouthful of dry bread and the heavy weight of sleep creeping along my eyelids, I assumed I had misheard the statement. But when Marka's serious gaze, stone grey and bearing her perpetual hardness, flickered over to me, only then did the string of words begin to make sense in my head. Abruptly, I was made very aware of the hard sunflower seeds and the tart ribbon of berry jam weaving in the loaf, suddenly feeling as if they were ripping the moisture from my tongue, filling my throat with an unbearably dry – almost desiccated – thirst. 

The supplies were no longer in the tree. 

Repeated a second time, the gravity of the situation felt all the more real. 

"What?" my tongue was pressed down by the bread as I said it, rending the word close to incoherent. 

Marka paid no attention to my graceless interjection. "They must've taken them when no one was at Cornucopia,” she deduced, a cool air of nonchalance coating her sentence in frost. 

" _'They'_? Who's _'they'_?" Sheer snapped almost demandingly. "Don't tell me the _other tributes_ cleaned out the tree?" Her sentence adopted a high pitch near the end, an undeniable fear of starvation constricting her words to a threadlike fineness. I remained silent, unable to do anything but. The air was tense and the Careers agitated. It felt as if the slightest syllable I uttered would change their minds of keeping me alive. I was in a very dangerous situation and had to react accordingly. 

"Clean out the whole tree and not drop dead from the poison? Highly unlikely," Marka brushed off with a scoff. But in a deep whisper, almost inaudible to everyone else, she added in a low undertone, "Gamemakers." 

That seemed to have brought a leadlike silence to the clearing, equal in both weight as well as toxicity. 

The crackling of dry wood in the campfire and the ominous hoot of faraway owls provided no comfort. The rest of the Careers took a moment to assess the situation, each one of them silently considering this new factor, gauging their chances of survival. Everyone had a grim look on their face, Hiddleston included. I manoeuvred the wad of cardboard-like bread to the back of my mouth. It bruised my throat when I reluctantly swallowed. 

"Well, what now?" Tom's calmness earned him a steely glare from his fellow Districter. Unfazed, he continued in an almost pressing tone, "They're apparently keen on starving us." 

"It's just to lessen the odds," the District 4 boy spoke up. I realised then that I had not heard his voice up till now; it was a deep and rough drawl, betraying the youthful gleam of his sea green eyes. "They probably think there are too many tributes," he continued. "We made it out with adequate supplies, we have our weapons and we have each other, for now. It's not the end, we can still hunt." It was meant to reassure but the way he said 'for now' sent a knowing chill down my back, a stark reminder that once the tribute count had thinned, it's every man for himself. 

"The Gamemakers wouldn't take away the excess supplies. Not without there being other food sources in the arena, close by," Sheer staggered her words, as if considering the idea just as it left her lips. She rolled it around her mouth, tasting it, a hint of a smirk spreading across her lips soon after. "We don’t have to split up yet." From the way they spoke, I assumed that one of the conditions of abandoning their truce was a lack in food. I frowned; there was still much that I didn’t know about being a Career. 

There is a wordless croak from the District 4 girl and the boy watches her as she makes intangible signs with her fingers and her palm. I stared at the pair of them, at first clueless to what she was doing. When I finally understood, I adopted the same patient gaze that Tom seemed to have been giving her the entire time. I hadn’t even realised she was mute. 

"She says there's a stream due south," the District 4 boy translates. "There might be fish there." 

Marka considers this. 

"We'll inspect it first thing in the morning." 

\--- 

When the sun began to bud at the horizon, like an orange-laden brush being dipped into clear blue water, the boy from District 4 roused from his sleep. The transition had been so fluid, how he switched from deep slumber to meaningful awareness, that at first I merely watched him as he gathered his things. He grabbed a large, empty brown bag; half a dozen wooden poles from Cornucopia, the ends white and sharpened with a knife; and the bundle of nets Tom had been helping the girl weave last night. 

Before leaving camp, he had taken one quick look around - probably to survey the woods - and his gaze fell upon me midway. He showed no signs of distaste when I stood up, and he wordlessly allowed me to take half of the poles and one of the nets. From that, I assumed he was alright with me following him to wherever he was going. 

And we departed without so much as a ‘good morning’ to each other. 

\--- 

The distance between us was filled with white exhales and the sound of heavy boots upon dew-laced foliage. Morning mist shrouded everything and anything beyond six trees in each direction. My chest was bubbling with unanswered questions and unquelled doubts but it didn't feel like it was the right time or the right person to voice them out to. So we spent the long moment of dim morning light in silence, trekking through the dense forest, knowing virtually nothing about each other but the number of our Districts. 

After a few dozen metres of silently staring at his back, my mind began to tune out the crunch of leaves and twigs and flickered back to earlier that morning. I recalled my nightmares of being executed, of Tom wielding the club that would bash my skull in and of Nyssa joining in, snatching a sharp knife from Marka’s belt and proceeding to skin me alive. For hours, I had slipped in and out of consciousness, desperately trying to avoid the dreams, only to fall back into them once fatigue got a tight enough hold. I lost count of the many times I jolted myself awake and I no longer remember what it was like to be well-rested. The pounding in my head hadn’t lessened a bit and my right arm still throbbed like it was on fire, but none of that seemed to matter with images of death flickering behind my eyes. It reminded me of the night I decided to go to the roof for the first time, how unbearably sleepless it was. So, when I heard the District 4 boy stirring from his sleep, it only made sense for me to follow him. 

I began to wonder. Waking up early, was this something he did every day? Was it something embedded into his being, something automatic, clockwork, like what chopping a tree down was like for me? We didn’t learn much about fishing or other Districts in school but I knew fish were easier to catch during dawn. Did he wake up early every morning to provide for his family? Did he watch the Games with the same dread like I did? What sort of thoughts fill his mind during the day? What sort of nightmares plagued his night? 

I then found myself struggling to remember which stations he frequented during our training, as well as what his name was. It was an extravagant name, I vaguely recall, an old, outdated one, like mine. It probably carried a deep meaning to it, as well as the hopes and dreams of his parents. You can tell by the brightness of his eyes and the depth of the lines along his mouth that he was loved. That most of his life had been filled with smiles. I almost envied him. 

Almost. 

During my long walk alongside him, I noticed something odd about him, a sort of disability that he had. Abruptly, without warning, his hands would start shaking. The first time I saw this, I recall, was at the training centre on the very first day; but at the time I assumed it had been purely nerves that spurred it. But I realise now that it was a reoccurring thing, sporadic, irregular, as if suddenly a gust of winter wind had blown by and he was the only one that felt it. 

Along with the muteness of the girl tribute, I understood the reasons behind their low private training scores. 

I didn't feel like it was appropriate to ask him about it, his shaking, like how it seemed almost taboo to mention anything about the bloodbath to the Careers. After the Fallen had been shown and after two more cannonfires, Marka and the rest had returned from their hunt, lightly smeared in blood. At first, I had been frightened, certain they planned on making a huge show of killing me, but they did nothing. They treated me as if nothing happened, passed me my ration of food and didn't mention the bloodbath at all. It was incredibly unnerving. I found myself actually grateful of the glares Facet was sending me; they reassured me that at least most of my memories were real. That I had angered him at one point, enough for him to hold a grudge, but the wound at his temple had mysteriously disappeared. 

I groaned inwardly. The whole of Panem had probably seen the entire spectacle of a bloodbath; I began to worry how much of an idiot they saw me as now. Surely the sponsors would be having second thoughts of this disgrace of a tribute. Lived his life as a lumberjack and knocks himself out falling from a tree. I imagined Linwood in his emerald green suit, trying desperately to schmooze the betters but silently cursing me in his thoughts. Or maybe he had given up entirely, instead focusing on the only other sane tribute from District 7. 

Nyssa. 

She was out there. Somewhere. I wondered whether she had managed to find shelter. Whether her wound would heal without proper medication now that the supplies were gone. Was there even a wound at all? I didn’t know. 

"We're here," the District 4 boy murmured, snapping me out of my pointless reverie. 

The calm babbling of a pebble-lined stream drifted in the breeze. 

\--- 

I’ve seen the tributes from the fishermen district before. On the Hunger Game replays, they never failed to impress me with their dexterity and ability to survive. When made to fish, they wove nets, sharpened branches, and could craft fishhooks out of anything they got their hands on. Of course, the Capitol cuts out the actual making of their tools, but regardless it's close to amazing how easy it is for them to find food. For us in District 7, most scavenging results in tree bark tea or soups spiced with pine needles. Not that I'm complaining, but it's admittedly a few steps down from the fresh, meaty fish the District 4 tributes seem to gather with ease. 

“What’s your name again?” he spoke up, punctuating his question by driving a pole into the riverbank. He then proceeded to peel off his jacket and roll up the legs of his trousers, tossing the former onto the low branch of a nearby tree. 

“Chris,” I murmured, somewhat relieved he had asked. At least I didn’t have to feel too guilty of forgetting his. “You?” 

“Kye,” he answered, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks. He then stretched his arm towards me expectantly, palm up and fingertips trembling. 

I handed him the bundle of nets slung over my shoulder, in doing so, releasing my hold of the wooden poles. They clattered loudly as they fell onto the smooth rocks but “Kye” didn’t seem disturbed by the sound. I paused. 

“Huh... I could’ve sworn it was longer,” I mused uncertainly, referring to his name. It was definitely longer, a mouthful even. 

“It’s short for Malachite.” 

“Ah, yeah, that’s what it was,” I said as the name struck some familiarity. Without a word, he turned his back towards me and returned to the stream, the nets sloshing along with his footsteps. Following suit, I tugged off my jacket and rolled up my pants legs, eager to help. With slight difficulty, I unlaced my boots and kicked them off, letting them thud onto the soft earth beside the river. “It’s a nice name.” 

“Thanks,” he returned absentmindedly, feeling around the bottom of the stream with the soles of his feet. “Yours too.” 

The gurgle of the water provided a soft cushion for our chaste exchanges to land on, which I was grateful for. It made the situation all the more calmer, as if I was having this conversation with a classmate, instead of a boy who’d kill me when given the chance. “What about the other tribute?” I asked, picking up another pole when he pointed to it. “The girl from your District.” 

“Her name’s Sai,” he answered simply. I cocked an eyebrow, briefly wondering whether all parents in District 4 gave their children rhyming nicknames. Kye didn’t seem to notice my reaction. “It’s short for Sairen.” 

“Like the alarm?” I queried, recalling the broken-down watchtowers back in my district, with their faulty wires and rusty machinery. 

“More like the myth,” Malachite replied, knotting a corner of the net to the pole. I stepped into the river, the icy bite immediately chasing away the fog of sleep from my head. 

“ _Myth_?” I echoed, unfamiliar with the word. Coming from my lips, it seemed all the more alien. 

“They’re stories adults tell the children. To scare them from going out to the beach at night,” he explained, embedding another pole into the water. He was wading close to the middle of the stream now, the water coming up to his waist. “ _If you follow the siren’s voice, you’ll only find despair_ ,” he quoted as if reading from a book. Said with the soft sounds of moving water in the background, it sounded almost eerie. It made me wonder what sort of despair the sirens would bring if I did follow them. He casts me an inquisitive look. “Don’t have any of those where you live?” 

I thought for a moment. 

“We usually just say ‘don’t go out at night’,” I said, which perked a grin at the corners of his mouth. 

After about two minutes of more knotting and more spearing, and once he was satisfied with the fish-traps he made, Kye picked up one of the two remaining spears – the wall of ice between us melting – and said, “C’mon, Chris, I’ll teach you how to fish.” 

\--- 

It was later in the morning, when the sun began to beat down upon the stream in hot waves, that the woods around us began to rustle all at once. I had been tying up the tails of the fish we've caught when an unbearable wind blew across the underbrush. It smelt of factories and carried with it a sharp and acidic pungency which burned my throat when I breathed. I rose from my knees, feeling as if I was coughing out thorns, trying my best to manoeuvre the pendulums of fish swinging from my shoulder. Through tear-fazed eyes, I found Kye clambering out of the stream, a spear held at bay as he bundled the bag and nets into his free arm. His hands were shaking. 

He looked at me once, an alarmed and knowing gleam in his eyes. I on the other hand, had no idea what was going on, relying solely on Kye’s frightened gaze to tell me something incredibly bad was about to happen. 

That fear seemed to only be secured when Tom came stumbling out of the forest, the ends of his curls curtained with smoke. His cheeks were flushed and his sleeve was smouldering, but what drew my attention the most was how the entire expanse of his exposed skin was bathed in a bright shade of pink. It looked painful and had a glassy sheen to it, reminding me of sunburn. 

A deep rumble ran through the earth and a number of cannons seemed to go off in response to a series of tribute deaths. But for some reason, the cannons themselves sounded different; they gurgled and spluttered, as if dispelling some sort of noxious fluid. They were nothing like the sharp, ringing bursts that peppered yesterday’s bloodbath. These ones seemed menacing, sickly almost, just wrong. The trees shuddered once more, raining a blanket of fresh green leaves onto the ground. Something moved in the shadows and I squinted into the forest behind Tom. I watched as the vague outline of Marka formed in the dusty fog; I could see the points of her elbows swinging rapidly as she ran. She was accompanied by the bold apparitions of Sheer and Facet, their own faces red from heat. They’re yelling at us, trying to tell us something but the cannons were too loud for me to hear. 

Finally, Sairen bursts out of the bushes and clings tightly onto my arm. Her free hand opened and closed desperately in front of my face, a stream of empty coughs erupting from her gaping mouth. I couldn’t understand the signing nor the mouthing and noticing this, she shot me a harsh glare. She then pointed to the tops of the pinewood trees, her shoulders trembling from exhaustion. 

I then realised that I had been right; the sounds I heard before hadn’t been cannons. 

They were the sounds of active volcanoes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I considered offering to help but my guilt wasn't strong enough to voice it out. I still didn't trust him. I couldn't trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are again at the beginning of another chapter. =) And though I have yet to make the gifset I promised last chapter, my fantastic translator and great talent in photoshop, [cinnamadethedoctorsbowtie](http://cinnamadethedoctorsbowtie.tumblr.com) (previously balthazarstolethetardis) has made a beautiful graphic for my fic. Be sure to [check it out](http://cinnamadethedoctorsbowtie.tumblr.com/post/28217995335). =DD I'm uncontrollably excited of it. <3
> 
> Also, a friendly reminder that Penance is being actively translated to Italian and that [Chapter 6](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=1183213&i=1) is now up and that one day, Valentina is going to be slamming on my front door demanding when's the next chapter because she works so incredibly fast. xD
> 
> Once again, a big and warm 'thank you' goes out to all of my readers. Truly, the fic would have never gotten this far without your support. =) Thank you for the kudos, likes, bookmarks, comments and reblogs, I love you all.

It was as if the entire horizon had been painted with _fire_.

I watched as bright, brilliant red lines flared and spat along the mountains’ coarse edges. They flickered against the dark black with a sun-like intensity, inscribing ribbons of their blue ghosts deep into my retinas. I turned my gaze away, wincing and squinting through the light, but not before I caught sight of the menacing golden streams and blood crimson waterfalls... as well as the daylight sky being eaten away by a sickly earth-tinged hue.

But despite the poison drifting in the air and the fear bubbling in my gut, despite visions of forest fires and deep seas of molten rock, the urge to run did not strike me yet.

I was rooted to the spot, one foot half-submerged in mud and water and the other grinding shallow holes into wet earth. From the corner of my eye, I saw Malachite taking the opportunity to tug on his heavy boots but the thought to retrieve my own pair didn't even enter my mind.

Something didn't make sense. 

The mountains-- no, the volcanoes, though menacing as they were, were still so far away. Save for a mild shake of the earth and the occasional light shower of ash, the eruptions couldn't... shouldn't have much effect on us at the stream. Not just yet at least.

But that didn't explain the bright, angry marks littering Tom's skin. From the way he looked, it was as if he had stood at the very edge of one and taken a faceful of hot, acrid fumes. I furrowed my brow.

"What happened?" Kye demanded, stepping away from the stream and up towards the newly arrived group. I couldn't see his expression but judging from the immediate frown on Marka's face, I guessed it was anger. Why though? Did he think they started the eruptions? 

"There was a fissure," Sheer's voice pierced the sounds of shattering earth, which had only just begun to fade. "Near camp... We grabbed what we could." Looking near-delirious, she then took a quick look around, her ash-laden blonde hair swinging from a loose braid. It hadn't been fastened. She had probably been tying it when they were forced to run.

"Where's Loy?" she croaked. _Loy_? I assumed it was the name of the other Career recruit, the one from 9. 

"He went back for his jacket," was Facet's grunt of a reply. He was bent over, coughing and deeply inhaling the sulphur-laced air as if his life depended on it. The air must've been worse at camp. "Or something else. I couldn't hear."

A long moment of silence followed, with the same thought entering everyone's minds but with no one daring to voice it out.

Finally, it was Tom who had said it. "You don't think he could've... died, do you?" was his cautious murmur.

"Who knows," Marka snapped, stepping out of the underbrush. "If there were any cannons, I couldn't hear them." She then turned towards us, folding her arms across her chest. "We'll wait here. If he's not back within ten minutes, we move on."

It was a cruel order but everyone silently complied, giving the faintest hints of nods as they settled down around the stream. Somehow, sometime before this – while I was still unconscious, no doubt – Marka had filled the role as the unofficial ‘leader’ of the group. From the way Sheer and Facet heeded her words despite being at least three years older, there must've been something remarkable she had said or done to prove herself. It was never easy convincing District 1 Careers. I found myself both curious and fearful of what Marka had done exactly.

"Chris," she called over suddenly. She was standing by the stream now, accompanied and dwarfed by Hiddleston's tall, lanky figure. A large sack was clutched loosely in his hand.

As I approached them, I saw the burns along the side of her arm, tracing up to the nape of her neck, where the edge of a bloody gash peeped out of a makeshift bandage of leaves. Tom didn't look any better. From the seriousness of their wounds, they must've been closest to the fissure when the eruptions began.

"Tom managed to grab an axe for you," Marka explained briefly once I was close enough. She had said it so abruptly, I almost didn't catch any of it. "Use it carefully, it's the only one."

I looked over to Hiddleston, with his face stained with red and glossy arms seeming to ring with a sharp, plastic-like ache, as he cringingly fishes out a silver axe from the burlap sack. The blade was dull from layers of soot and some earth clung to the handle from being dragged across the ground, but a few rinses in the stream would easily fix that. I then watched as the bag was wordlessly bundled and tossed aside, and I assumed that was all he had been able to salvage from camp.

Tom didn't use an axe, and the fact that it was the first thing he had reached for sent a sharp stab of guilt to my gut.

"Thanks..." I muttered, to which he replied with a ginger nod of his head. He kept his gaze at my jacket zipper the entire time as the axe exchanged owners, as if afraid to look at me straight in the eye.

I then realised that this was the first time we were standing this close. Ever since the first day of training, I had made sure that there was always a ten-foot distance between us. But now, I was close enough to see the shadows of his curls on his forehead and the fading scar on his cheek. I cleared my throat, not liking how the sudden turn of events had resulted in this. I still hated him, I'm still angry. But he was making it increasingly hard to stay hateful and angry.

It was probably another ploy to earn my trust and I'm aware of that... but he's practically saving my life by giving me my weapon. And for that, I'm grateful.

"The water in the stream's cold..." I began hesitantly after clearing my throat one more time. "It could help with your burns." It was pitiful almost, my attempt at returning the favour, but I took his tight half-smile - feeble though it may be - as a sign of gratitude.

\---

Loy didn't return.

Even after the additional five minutes Sairen had persuaded Marka to add on, there had been absolutely no sign of him in the smouldering forest. Facet volunteered to return to camp to check but Sheer argued that there was no need.

A tremble of a sigh seemed to have left Tom when we were ordered to move; I could feel it vibrating the air as I crouched beside him, our feet half-dipped in the rippling water. From the way his palms tentatively hovered over his skin whenever he tried to fold his arms, and from the soft groans he made when he had splashed water on his wounds, I could only imagine how much suffering the burns were giving him. I considered offering to help but my guilt wasn't strong enough to voice it out. I still didn't trust him. I couldn't trust him.

And so I had spent most of the fifteen minutes silently rinsing my axe, whose weight seemed to multiply with every layer of ash I washed off.

\---

It was evening by the time we arrived at Cornucopia. Being from District 7 meant that I was more accustomed to navigating through thick forests, and so I had been assigned to aid Kye in leading the group back to the tribute circle. We couldn't go back the way we came due to the fissure having torn an extensive gash across the ground and I did my best at manoeuvering us around any eruption-prone areas, but to be honest, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

Sure, I've been around tall trees all my life but there was always a path to follow whenever we ventured into the forests. And when I had gone out with Liam, we always followed the exact same route. I knew as much about navigating through unfamiliar wilderness as Nyssa knew how to mine coal.

Fortunately, Kye understood the terrain more than I did and we found our way back just in time to see the sunset painting the rocky plains a brilliant orange gold.

The active volcanoes were quelled by now, the streams of fire reduced to tensed red-hot threads pulsing along with the breeze. Sairen - translated by Kye - had explained that the mountains surrounding the arena were all roughly the same distance from Cornucopia and that it would be safer for us to linger around the tree in case of any more eruptions.

And standing by the tribute plates once again, the Gamemakers' plan started to make sense. If we ventured too far in either direction, a stream of lava would ensure our quick demise. If we lingered in the forests for too long, fissures would tear apart our camp. The only answer was to remain at the centre of it all, amidst dormant landmines that could kill us at a moment's notice.

But where would be the fun in that?

If the all of the Careers were wiped out so early, that would leave the Gamemakers with no action, relying solely on nature and induced volcanoes to kill off the other tributes. Any Victor crowned from that wouldn't be seen as a genuine "champion" and the Games would be a failure.

Of course, I hadn't said any of this out loud - there were cameras and microphones all around us - but I was sure that Marka had been thinking the exact same thing when she suggested we return to Cornucopia. She was aware of our bargaining power against the Gamemakers. It was fact now, the tree would serve temporary shelter against any more volcanic eruptions.

But since this is all one big bargain, that something should be given in return.

As we unpacked what scarce resources we had left under the poisoned tree that had begun to shed its leaves, amidst the tense anticipation of what else the Capitol had in store for us, there was a certainty that lingered in everyone's minds.

Tomorrow, we would have to kill.

\---

The anthem rose out of the ground, bringing with it a warning that came in the form of a mild earthshake. I could see Marka's steely glare piercing the empty westward horizon, carved like a silent challenge to the observing Gamemakers. A small dagger remained tightly clutched in her left hand, with her right index finger tracing along the spine as if meaning to sharpen it through will alone. Though her movements were small and though her intentions might seem harmless, I could tell that there was a sort of toned-down hatred she was harbouring deep inside her. Though it might not necessarily be aimed at the Capitol or the Gamemakers or the Games themselves, it was a loathing that seared violently through the night.

Unnervingly, we watched as the stoic, emotionless face of Loy was projected onto the night sky. Excluding the two others the Careers had hunted last night, he was neither proceeded nor followed by anyone else; he was the only death today.

Without further ceremony, the three faces then faded from view and we were enshrouded in darkness once more. I could feel the fury Marka was struggling to hold in. 

"No supplies, camp torn apart, Loy..." I heard her mutter the string of words acidly under her breath. "And the measly ones go free." The dagger in her hand was then roughly embedded up to the hilt in grass and soil.

No one said a word as she scrambled to her feet, abruptly slinging a small bag over her shoulder before storming off into the night. Neither of us questioned her. It was clear that things weren't going according to plan. Marka was most likely more angry of her strategies prematurely failing than actually distraught by Loy's death. It only made sense, she was the 'leader', the strategist. Failing the team too many times could result in her being killed.

A moment or so passed before Sheer uprooted her knife and followed after her, who was then closely followed by Facet. I considered going after them to help out with whatever new plan Marka had concocted but the thought of being in a dark, dense forest alongside Facet didn't seem too inviting.

\---

It was around midnight, while Malachite was roasting the fish we caught over a campfire, when a tender glint of silver caught the golden light of the flames. I looked up from the axe in my hands and towards the night sky. The characteristic outline of a white parachute caused my heart to skip a beat. I took a quick look around. Tom was perched up against a boulder with his arm across his eyes and Sairen seemed overly preoccupied with the moss on the tree; Kye hadn't seen the sponsor gift either, his head bowed over a pile of nets, quietly mending any large holes in them.

Silently as I could, I stood up and closed the small distance between me and the sponsor gift, the entire time wondering what was in it and for whom it was for.

It couldn't be food, we have plenty for tonight and tomorrow afternoon. It couldn't be weapons, it looked far too small. So what was it?

I stood over it for a moment or so before I peeled a corner of the white cloth away, revealing the carved surface of a rectangular silver box. Tentatively, I picked it up, detaching the strings of the parachute as I did. It wasn't too small and was elaborately decorated, similar in dimension to the sofa pillows back at the Training Centre. It made little noise when I turned it over and was cold to the touch. Curiously, I fiddled with the hook-like metal clasp and the top open without a sound.

Bandages, swabs, bottled iodine, burn ointment.

It was a first aid kit.

I was almost disappointed; from the intricate carvings on the exterior, I naively hoped that it contained something extraordinary, or that at least the gift had been meant for me. I was wrong on both counts.

Maybe Linwood had given up on me after all.

Letting out a small sigh, I made my way back to camp, but not before I bundled the small parachute into my pocket. Who knows? It might come in handy one day.

"Sponsor gift," I announced without a hint of excitement. The crackling of the fire almost drowned out the drawl of my voice. "It's for Tom."

Hearing his name being called seemed to have shocked him because Tom had abruptly pushed himself up from his boulder and was now staring at me like I've grown a third head. Somewhat uncomfortably, I looked down at the box in my hands and held it out for him, but he didn't move an inch.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, 'sponsor gift'," I repeated. 

"You're joking," he said in disbelief, reclining back against the rock. "I don't have sponsors."

"Well, apparently you do, because otherwise I wouldn't be holding this," I replied sardonically, starting to grow tired of holding it out if he's not going to take it. Also, it still stung that he's receiving a gift so early in the Games. People must really love him.

"Felsic hates me, he wouldn't--"

"Just **take it** ," I snapped, grabbing hold of his wrist and pressing the box into his palm. I saw the wince cross his features and his hand immediately cradling where I had touched him but I pushed all of that aside, along with my budding guilt, and stormed off in the opposite direction.

\---

I knew I was acting like a child.

I knew that somewhere out there, Liam was sighing at my obstinance and Tom-smittened Capitol citizens were shaking their fists at me. I could feel my loved-by-all reputation slowly being jeopardised, and my guilt and frustration of being indebted to Tom growing all the more stronger.

Somewhere in my head, a tiny voice asks, 'Is this really the right time to hold a grudge?' To which I answered, I wasn't holding a grudge, I'm just being cautious. Tributes from District 2 are incredibly conniving and untrustworthy and ruthless. He could be plotting to kill me just as Facet almost did.

As if to prove my point, I looked over my shoulder to reveal the bloodthirsty snake he was... only to find Tom struggling as he clumsily tried to bandage his right shoulder.

I frowned. 

_Idiot_ , I thought, but I wasn't sure who I was referring to anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, caught as helplessly as Loy had been trapped in the Rift, I allowed myself to wonder:
> 
> Did I really have a chance at surviving the Games?

I could hear my own heartbeat.

It throbbed and pulsed beneath my flesh like a wild bird caught in flight. My fingers tense over where my neck connects with my shoulder, unnerved by how prominent it was, and surprised that the others couldn't taste the rising apprehension in each shuddering thump. I occupied my spinning head with these redundant thoughts, a feeble attempt to distract myself from the horrors that lay ahead.

It was midday by now. We trekked through the underbrush with tentative steps, as if the slightest displacement of fallen leaves would alert our prey.

Our _prey._

We weren't referring to the meat we'd have to roast for lunch. This time, the word ' _prey_ ' brought along with it a more inhumane connotation. I didn't like the sound of it. I didn't like how easily it had slipped into my mind. I didn't like how the Careers so nonchalantly threw it about whilst Marka was hinting at the 'ingenious plan' she would reveal during noon.

They had returned to the campsite near dawn. Everyone else was asleep and I had been appointed as lookout for the three-hour interval, right after Sairen. Startled by their stealthy approach, I recalled my hand instinctively taking hold of the hilt of my axe; I remembered the dead weight that clung onto the blade as I lifted it to defend myself. And I remembered the split second of doubt that had settled in my gut even before I had raised it all the way.

A split second large enough for retaliation. I could've been dead the next moment if it had been an enemy.

Upon seeing it was them, I lowered my weapon but the weight - the singular thought - remained. The stark droplet of blood upon blinding white snow. The taunting whisper at the back of my head. The reminder that killing was not a reflex for me. That despite whatever menial strength and accuracy I had shown during training, it would take immense effort for me to wound someone, foe or not.

And that made me weak.

And from years of watching the Games,

I knew what the Careers did to their weak. 

\---

"Marka..." I could hear Kye's throat constricting and the unease radiating from his murmur. "What is _that_?"

He pointed at it with the far end of his makeshift spear, the tapered tip trembling from the shudders running along his wrist. Whether they were caused by his sickness or from pure fear, I wasn't sure. But I couldn't blame him, no one could.

If the smell hadn't been warning enough, the sight of it would have driven away any unsuspecting passerby.

Suspended at least seven feet from the ground and swaying ominously from the highest pine tree, bright red, festering and dripping with blood, was a misshapen mound of fraying, blackstained meat. It resembled the old, diseased wild goat that had wandered into the District one day mid-October... after the butcher had gotten hold of it. The stench of death seemed to cascade downwards into an invisible, putrid pool in the centre of the clearing, erecting perimeters made of nerves that none of us dared to past.

We lingered at the edge, most of us awaiting explanation from Marka and her two District 1 lackeys, all of whom had cocky grins plastered to their faces.

Finally, one of them spoke, and I immediately wished they hadn't said a word. 

"That," Facet announced far too triumphantly. "Was Loy."

Those three words struck me to the core.

"W-What?" Kye's disgust rang clearly through the silent woods around us. I began to question the positioning of the corpse. Everything felt metallic and cold and dead in this part of the arena; why place something of this impact in a soundless place like this?

"What do you mean 'that was Loy'?!" Kye demanded. It was followed by a frail, airy squeak erupting from Sairen's throat. He placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort but kept his glare locked on Facet.

"Keep your voice down," Marka snapped, not bothering to hide her impatience.

"See? This is exactly why **we** were the ones who had to dig him out of that pit," Sheer snorted.

"Pit??"

"Yes, 'pit'," she grinned, pleased by the impact. "We found him caught at the very bottom of the Rift. Had his legs crushed between two rocks, cheeks cut open by the shards on the walls; from the way the cuts were stretched, he probably died screaming from the fumes."

The silence that followed was nerve-wracking and the unnerving mental image forming in my head sent cold shudders down my spine. I had gotten a whiff of the acrid Rift air during the eruptions. It burned my throat and brought tears to my eyes and my skin prickled as if I was being held over a fire. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it felt like for Loy... trapped, crippled and dying right in the heart of it all.

The visualisation grew all the more grotesque and I found myself revolted and unnerved by _everything_. The mangled corpse in the tree; Marka's wild, almost inane intentions; Sheer's perverse gloating in contrast to her smile; the way Facet kept his eyes on me, as if waiting for a moment's weakness, waiting for the one reason so he could cut me down. We had only been in the arena for three days and already the Careers were starting to go crazy. And then, caught as helplessly as Loy had been trapped in the Rift, I allowed myself to wonder:

Did I really have a chance at surviving the Games?

"Marka... I don't understand," Hiddleston's voice had transcended into a deep, solemn murmur almost uncharacteristic of him. A genuine, compassionate empathy lingered heavily in his tone, but who was it for? _Loy_?

If so, he was signing his own death warrant. Facet would have him dead by sundown.

"Of course you don't, _idiot_ ," Marka's words stung like thick acid. But Tom didn't flinch and his gaze didn't harden; in fact he no longer had any reaction at all. It was as if the sight of Loy's corpse had begun to rip away all other emotion from him. All but suffering. I bit my lip.

"Tell me, Hiddleston, have you seen any animals as of yet?" Marka's drawl was light and dangerous, like the razor-like blade she kept strapped to her belt.

Tom was silent for a moment. "I assume you're not talking about the fish," he muttered after awhile.

"The fish are all dead, we checked this morning," Facet smirked as if the food shortage had no impact on us. "Poisoned by the air and water."

"Then I'd have to say 'no'," Tom was forced to answer. "But what do the animals have anything to do with that?"

"It's bait," Marka stated simply.

"But you just said there were no animals," Hiddleston retorted, not understanding at all. I furrowed my brow; I don't either.

"Who said anything about this being for the animals?" Sheer's sing-song hint pierced through the thick air.

And all at once, it clicked into place. 

I saw Tom's grey eyes widen.

And I felt my own blood run cold. 

"You can't possibly think that--" Kye cut his panicked stutter in mid-sentence, unsure of how to continue. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he found his tongue. "You can't possibly think that the other tributes would resort to..." He trailed off, this time unwilling to say it, as if mentioning it would make it true.

"There was a psychological study we learnt in school once," Marka said coolly. "Of how humans would react in extreme conditions." From the corner of my eye, I saw Tom hang his head, probably from realisation of remembering the same lesson. What were they teaching the people in District 2? Unnervingly, Marka continued her nonchalant musing as if recalling a fond childhood memory, "There was one particularly interesting experiment that included deprivation and confinement...

"Don't worry, Malachite," she then smiled. "It's a proven fact."

I saw his Adam's apple tremble as he swallowed. She continued to speak nonetheless. 

"In due time, they will come, and when they do, we'll be waiting."

\---

Night fell without a single cannon-fire.

Not even when we were made to split up, comb through the forest, and converge once more at the Rift, did we find another tribute. The pine-woods were empty, devoid of not only birds and fish, but all forms of life entirely. It was eerie, surreal almost. Treading through soft grass and fallen leaves, with nothing but the flickering sunlight and shifting shadows to keep you company.

Nothing else moved. The trees themselves seemed icily dead as well, artificial, as if they had backbones of steel.

Kye and I had manoeuvred through the same woods before, when dew was fresh and glistening and the air was cool and bright. Each breath I had taken in brought with it a faint nostalgia of District 7 mornings: warm pine-needle tea and journey into the forest for wood. That is until the arena-mountains began to spit fire and light.

But even after the eruptions subsided and even after the ground stilled, everything - right down to the breeze rustling through the leaves - suddenly felt so artificial.

And walking alone in the middle of it all, you're struck with blow after blow of mounting uncertainty. It builds up frantically, haphazardly, into a rickety crescendo, playing at doubts and fears and ever-bubbling paranoia.

_Will we starve to death? What happened to the other tributes? What of Nyssa? How is she still surviving? Did she manage to find food? What would happen to Marka's plans if there was food? Did she just scrape together and assemble a fellow tribute in vain? What did the Capitol think of their promising Career team now? What did District 2 think? A maddening psychopath and a useless beanpole as glorious tributes._

_What did District 7 think? Was I a traitor to them for joining the Career pack and leaving Nyssa behind? Was Nyssa's mother cursing my name for not keeping her daughter safe? Were people placing bets or have they already lost faith in me... What did my family think?_

_What did Liam think?_

There must be some sort of commentary or Gamemaker plan brewing by now, ready to be launched at a moment's notice; everything has gone stagnant. Too stagnant for the Games.

_Is Liam screaming at the television right now? Is he trying to warn me about the next wave, the next hurdle we would have to pass?_

_Was Liam able to sense my impending doom?_

I recalled Luke's wide-eyed gaze meeting the cameras. The rustle of leaves. The crunch of bone. The spilling blood. The frightened birdcall.

The cannon. 

All these thoughts swirled through my head like a vicious whirlpool. 

And by the time I made it to the Rift with moments to spare, I had a mind to jump straight in to relieve myself of these suffocating thoughts. 

I had enough sense to hold back and I stood by the crumbling edge, watching the swirls of yellow-tinged smoke play in the ravine like leaves caught by the wind. The scent isn't as acidic and malignant as it was the day before, instead the poison seemed to coagulate into an unseen mass of decay at the bottom.

The thought was unnerving, but I wondered whether all of the birds and creatures had descended into the Rift and to their deaths. That would explain the smell and the Capitol had created viler abominations in their laboratories before. It was definitely within their power, childsplay almost, to achieve something like this.

But if so, _why_.

What would their achieve from this, other than starving us all?

I was thinking too much and asking too many questions.

And nothing but the silence of the woods answered my doubts.

\---

Marka ventured into the woods again tonight, this time bringing along Malachite and Sairen.

At first, when Kye had been called, a momentary jolt of fear had stung me in the chest; I was afraid that they were bringing him into the forest for an execution for his earlier disagreement. It was certainly something not unheard of in the Games, occurring more often than naught. But when she brought along Sai and walked off without uttering a word to the District 1's, I slowly released the breath I had been holding in. A quick glance to Kye's face before he left told me that the a similar thought had passed though his mind as well.

But as their backs melted away from the firelight and deeper into the shadows, the realisation that they had left me with Sheer and Facet grew all the more stronger.

We weren't at Cornucopia tonight, instead having sought refuge in a tiny clearing right in the heart of the pine-forests. We were grouped together tight and with no giant tree to block each other from view. And the bright campfire they had instructed me to build burned brightly with thick pine-sap at its core, illuminating each of our faces as clearly as daylight. Not wanting to linger by the District 1's, I found myself reluctantly deviating closer and closer towards Hiddleston with each passing minute - whose back was turned towards the fire as he changed his bandages.

As he _attempted_ to change his bandages.

"Having trouble?" I was compelled to ask when his glanced upwards, towards me.

He cast me one hard look before looking back down, and then back at me. "I don't know how Sairen did my bandages," he muttered almost embarrassedly. "I can't undo them."

"I'll help." My mouth moved before my brain had time to register what I said.

Tom gave me another one of his looks, probably uncertain of the sincerity of my offer. I couldn't blame him; I was giving him mixed messages by doing this. Did I hate him? Did I like him? Have I gotten over whatever agenda I had with him? The answer would be no to all of the above. I'm doing this so that I look occupied and wouldn't have to face whatever questions or remarks Sheer had in store. And to be honest, we had a pretty bad day today, which would most likely get worse come morning. A little show of kindness wouldn't kill me.

Or would it?

"That would be nice," Tom says and it took me awhile to realise what he was talking about. "Thank you," he murmured, relieved.

Without a word, I fall to my knees beside him and proceed to examine the criss-crossing folds on his extended arm. I then fiddled with the firm knot holding it all in place, careful not to pressure his skin too much in case the wounds were still raw. Hesitatingly, I undid the knot and slowly began to unravel the bandages.

With each bit of skin I exposed, I began to doubt whether Tom had even been wounded at all. The flesh underneath was perfect and almost scarless albeit flushed and tinged pink. But looking back, I was certain that just yesterday morning, he had been shuddering in pain as he scooped cold water onto his open, angry burns.

"It's amazing isn't it?" I heard him muse. "I was surprised when the pain went away but this... this is almost unbelievable."

"Capitol laboratories," I muttered almost enviously, my voice an octave lower.

"If only they spent the same amount of effort hosting the Games in making medicines like this more easily accessible to the other Districts."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me the thought has never occurred to you," Tom said, surprised.

I wanted to slap him upside the head for saying that and also for his recklessness. "Of course it has but there are just some things we don't say aloud." The last few words came out through gritted teeth as I attempted to keep my own voice down. I sincerely hope that the Gamemakers were able to cut that bit out in time or Tom's family would be facing serious consequences. What was he _thinking_?

"You're right, sorry."

Silence fell between us as I undid the rest of his bandages and redressed some still-healing wounds with fresh gauze and ointment. The only sounds that filled the air were the hushed whispers between Sheer and Facet and the slow, steady crackling of the nearby fire. Marka and the rest showed no signs of returning soon, just like the day before, and once I was done with Tom, I grabbed my jacket, chose a random direction, and started to walk into the woods.

Though the forest was still cold and devoid of life, I found it more comforting than being close to the Career pack. I'm sure Tom was uncomfortable as well but I was reluctant to ask him to join me. What if he said something else incredibly stupid? What then? It was better to leave him alone.

Keeping the campfire within view, I noisily trudged through the thick foliage with my heavy boots, eager to put as much distance between me and them. I would return when I hear them calling or when Marka comes back, whichever comes last.

A few more paces into the woods and I came across a wide-enough stone, all covered with moss. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I inspected the distance from here to camp. Once I decided there was sufficient enough space in between, I claimed the rock as my own.

I allowed the moments to pass as I counted the clover plants at my feet and the stars that lined up with one of the tree branches above my head. And for a moment, everything fell to a sort of makeshift serenity, like tea leaves settling down to the bottom of the cup. But things like calmness and peace are not real in the arena. Something has to happen for the Games to be a success, all at the expense of twenty-three lives. And I am not looking forward to what surprise they had planned for us next.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shan't lie, three months is an _obscene_ amount of time to be waiting for a chapter update. And for that I sincerely apologise from the bottom of my heart. A lot got in the way (writer's block, outernet problems etc) and I shall not deny that my drive for this fic diminished somewhat during that period.
> 
> Which is why I dedicate this chapter and the remainder of Penance to the lovely pungafruit, artist of not [one](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/post/34133113007/pungafruit-a-piece-of-fanart-for-the-lovely), not [two](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/post/35418871084/pungafruit-because-i-had-nothing-else-better-toa), but [THREE](http://paperchimes.tumblr.com/post/36989668058/pungafruit-for-paper-chimes-of-her-fic) amazing Penance fanart pieces and to be honest, the saviour of this fic. I had the ideas, an entire notebook of scenarios, everything except for _drive_ and it was through her endless reassurance and support and love and basically **everything** that this chapter and the following chapters came/will come to be. =) Please 'like' and 'reblog' her fanart to show support, she truly is a fantastic artist.
> 
> And also, last but definitely not least, thank you so so so much all readers of Penance who have liked, commented, favourited, reblogged, sent me messages, gave me kudos, subscribed and everything. And for me to receive all these even during writer's block, it was really a blessing and I thank you **all** from the bottom of my heart. The feedback I've gotten from this fic is amazing, absolutely _fantastic_ , and I have you all to thank for that. =') Once again, I am sorry for the long wait. Rest assured that Penance will **never** be abandoned, ever.
> 
> Once again, **thank you**. Thank you so much.

Snow fell from the grey-tinged sky, drifting and twirling in the silent dawn breeze.

My boots sunk deeper into the white ground with each clumsy step. My entire body jerked forwards, struggling to keep itself balanced as I dodged the neverending stream of fragile stems in the dying flowerfields. The drooping heads of once beautiful poppies occupied the seemingly endless space around me, closely accompanied by lung-stinging gusts of ice and wind. The sun peaked along the fragmented horizon, only to be swallowed by the looming clouds overhead. Everything was dead and cold and bore no sign of life, with only the swaying weed and fluttering snow offering what little reassurance they could. It was cold.

Everything was silent.

Then, there is the abrupt cry of a raven in mourning, which resounds crisp and clear through the field as if it was encased in glass. A pause follows, as Time waits for the creature to catch its breath and I find my own intruding gasps filling my ears, and then my thoughts, my muscles tensing as if ready to take flight.

Surely enough, the raven cries again and I turn towards the source of the sound, a jog rapidly blooming in my step. I run before thinking, religiously drawn towards it by some cosmic pull.

'I have to get there,' the thought does not invade my mind, but instead poisons my limbs, grabbing hold of my marrow and urging me like an impatient puppeteer. I passively comply. Frozen flowers shatter beneath my footsteps like skin-thin glass and the ice-laced soil is hard and unforgiving to my heels, and yet I continue to run, just as the raven continues to call to the wind without a single reply. If I hadn't been there, it would have been all alone. Alone in the white-tinged-black expanse of death and ice, the only bit of warm life as far as the eye can see.

I run and run and run - for miles or more, I've lost track - until I spot an irregularity in the field: a soft imprint of dark shadow in the thicket of flower corpses. I hasten my jog into a sprint but the scenery doesn't shift, as if I was simply flailing madly in thin air. It all felt surreal, as if time and space had lost meaning here, and - as my actions escalate in desperation - I find myself growing more and more unnerved by the constant raven cry.

Finally, my body comes close enough to the intruding object. Most of it was still shrouded in tall poppy stems but I just managed to make out a small blur of white from where I was... A few steps closer revealed it to be the blurred and bruised outline of... a hand.

I swallowed audibly, but even that began to feel muffled, unreal.

I freeze in mid-step and the heel of my boot skids a trench across the cold earth. I continue to stare at the white hand in the middle of the clearing, unable to turn away. And as much as I willed it to disappear, it remained where it was, a stark and grotesque stain upon the equally unnerving ground. The tops of many dead flowers frayed my vision and I was left guessing at what was on the other end of that hand. Each passing 'what-if' grew more unsettling and mangled than the one before.

Forcing back a windless shudder from my spine, I gathered enough gall to approach, urged onwards by the frantic raven cry. The mists of breath that drift onto my chest were shaky now, shuddering from the cold as well as nerves. And with each step that brought me close, like a puzzle coming together, more and more of the body was revealed to me.

The hand was - thankfully - still connected to an arm, which was sprawled beneath a black jacketed back. The colour and stitching was familiar to me but I forced myself to inspect other things, other things that would hopefully soften the impact once I discover who the body was. And from the way I continued to observe, it was obvious who I suspected it to be.

I saw bare, mud-crusted feet haphazardly strewn over the hard ground, which bore deep trenches from retaliation, or desperation, or torture. I saw frayed hair, reddened at the tips, splayed across like the wings of a wounded bird.

I swallowed before I stepped around the corpse.

Despite the black, swollen fingers; the mangled torso; and with frozen blood painting dark pools into the soil, I continued my slow deathlike stride, inch by inch... and found myself face-to-face with Nyssa's blank, teary gaze.

The bold blast of a cannon ruptures the scene and crudely drags me out of my nightmares.

Flickering sunlight shifted into focus, bringing along with it the light scent of grass and pine. To call me disoriented was an understatement. Everything was too bright, too clear, too much of a contrast to the fog and perpetual _white_ of the empty world I just escaped from. And as piercingly as the warmth burns my face, the harsh inhales of sulphur-laced reality quickly begin to erode the ghosts lingering from my dreams. But I could still feel my fingertips trembling from the cold and I could still see her unforgiving glare. It had been so vivid, so haunting, so unforgettable to the point that it couldn't be anything but an ominous foreshadowing of what was to come.

\---

We spotted him from ten metres away.

It was a sweltering afternoon, with the sun at its apex over the vast arena. We had started our trek at high morning and had long passed the unmarked but obvious border that separated the pine from the unnatural hybrid trees. And despite the thick, fleshy branches which gave the impression of shade from the scorching rays, the temperature continued to rise unhindered.

It was frightening, unnatural, almost as if heat was coming from the ground itself. As if any moment, the earth under our feet would give way to veins and rivers of crimson lava. And the deeper we went into this artificial forest, the closer we were getting to the 'heart' of it all. And with temperatures so unbearable at the edge of the plane, the entity in the core had to be nothing but pure liquid flame. I berated myself for being so pessimistic, but my fears had foundation.

There was no thinking what the Gamemakers had planned for us. From years of watching the Games, I've come to learn that they possessed no qualms, no sense of guilt, and never held back. And knowing that, we should be more continue more cautiously, but something told us - well, told Marka at least - that we should proceed into the deadly forest despite the rising difficulty that came with each step.

Each breath, even each dry, bruising swallow came out strained, and it took us immense amounts of self-control not to gulp away what scarce amount of water we had left.

We had no idea when we would come across another source of clean water, or whether we would find one at all. We didn't know how far effects of the eruptions extended to. Were there gigantic Rifts stretched across other parts of the arena? If so how many? Was all the water poisoned by now? Did the scent of Death permeate from the ground in other areas as severely as it did in the pine forests? Was being here, slightly away from the stench, but somehow closer to Death, any better than being back there? What should we do now? Where were we even going?

The fourth day was filled with bubbling uncertainty, ready to boil over at any second.

And the burning hunger didn't make it any easier.

We were on our last ration of supplies and as much as Marka wanted to linger around the clearing where Loy was strung up, we had to prioritise our own survival before we could think of hunting anyone down.

Hours had passed since we packed up camp and began our scavenging trek and those hours were more than enough to sow doubt in Sheer and Facet, and anxiety in Marka.

She wasn't the only one growing uneasy; near-delirious with heatstroke, I had begun to imagine scenes of the earth splitting open underneath us and swallowing us whole, just as unforgivingly as it did to Loy. And from the looks on their faces, it was obvious that the rest had similar fears. We were all ready to navigate out of this wretched area, but each of us was just waiting for the other to say something, _anything_.

I mentally urged someone to step forward, and later take the blame when Marka regains her senses - preferably Tom. He seemed to be getting away with a lot, most probably because he had been unofficially voted most likely sponsor favourite. As much as we hated to admit, the bandages and burn medicine had been extremely helpful these past few days.

But patience was wearing thin and Kye's hand had begun to jitter. It didn't take much longer for someone to speak up and surprisingly it had been Facet who was the first to mutter a hasty "let's go", which was closely followed by a bitter "there's nothing here", to which everyone quickly agreed to, even Marka though unwillingly.

And just as we were about to pull out of the suffocating forest, _he_ appeared from the corner of my eye.

He was small, wide-eyed and had a mop of hair with varying shades of singed brown. It was clear from the way he stumbled that he had spent the past few days without food, maybe even from the very first. The heat was taking a toll on him as well; from the way he looked, he must've been in the hybrid forest much longer than we have. His sunken eyes were dark and distant and his entire body was flushed red from burns or sunlight or both. And like a dog dying of thirst, his mouth hung open, agape with trembling gasps wheezing in and out of his lungs.

And for that horrifying split-second, he had just stared right at us, uncertain of how to react. His limbs tensed and froze despite his condition and I swore I could see the breath catching in his throat.

And then there it was. The terrifying moment when a tribute realises that their untimely and brutal fate is near. I saw it snap like a dry twig engulfed in flames. Fear, pure and raw and strong, blooming across his features like blood on water.

"Marka!" Sheer screeched alarmingly.

But she needn't scream because Marka's cold grey eyes were already upon him, focusing, aiming, like a hawk ready to kill.

I have never seen her smile so wide before.

\---

Rain came down in unforgiving torrents that night, and slammed against the back of my neck like hardened icy shards. Amidst the enveloping hush of the shower against the leaves and the streams against rock, I could hear the hasty rustling of waterskins being fished out of sacks and Kye's thankful declarations of "It's safe to drink! It's safe to drink!". I remained where I was, unmoving, metres away from the edge of camp, the small of my back pressed flush against rough wood and tightly grasping the hilt of my axe. I know it's wrong of me to distance myself from the Career pack, especially now that they were in need of help - from what I could hear, Tom was adding wet wood into the campfire - but I just needed some time alone.

_No, please stop!_

I shuddered. The tribute's voice still rung in my ears. 

He dug holes. That was how he survived this whole time with only one rickety shovel scavenged from Cornucopia. By hiding underneath soil. I'm suspecting there were human-sized tunnels underground as well but probably not built by him; you'd remember where you dug a tunnel. Something important like that, something you spent hours and days working on, wouldn't just slip your mind. Or did the fear of dying shock his sense of direction so much, that hole he had chose to jump into was nothing more than a waterless well - deep and desolate, with no way out. A literal dead end.

_Facet, look what I found..._

Huge stones. From the white, rocky expanse I had spotted from the tribute circle on the first day. To see them there meant that we were close to another borderline, another dangerous section of the arena. The barest and driest area, with no sign of life and with heat waves rising from the ashen ground like steam from hot water; or like invisible fire over the raging infernos we had witnessed only days before. I had wondered what sort of stone the white rocks were but I never would've wanted to find out like this.

_Chris, go help Facet._

Marka was still the leader, and she maintained that title despite the questionable choices she had made. With the addition of the poor shuddering boy in the deep, narrow hole, she was finally entitled to the sadistic triumph she once possessed. The triumph of having one less competitor in the game and being one step closer to becoming Victor.

The rocks were heavier than they appeared. A tribute from District Two would've been able to talk about densities and mass against volume and complex language like that but the only thing I could think of was how to make his death as quick and forgiving as possible. And to my disgust, I felt myself clamouring for the largest, sharpest and deadliest-looking rock, practically snatching it away from Facet's outstretched hand, to which I was rewarded with an impressed scoff and an approving pat on the shoulder.

The sound of the boy's cracking skull would haunt the rest of my nightmares.

It was dull and yet there was a sharp and brisk crunch that masked over the bruised thud. I was too far up and the shadows cast by the burning sunlight were too dark to see the blood but I could _see_ it clearly in my mind, pooling out of an irregular-shaped void at the side of his head, streaming down the entire column of his neck, and drenching his thick black jacket. And then slowly staining the whites of his eyes a deep and smeared _red_.

And as if to taunt him, Facet threw another rock.

 _No, please stop,_ his voice echoed eerily up the chasm.

His body had been built stronger than we expected. Despite the blow to the head he was still alive, though barely. In most cases it would've been a blessing; to be able to survive a wound like that would turn tides for him if he was one of the final two. But he **wasn't** in the final two right now, he was helpless and dying and faced with an entire Career pack. I remembered the nerves of my hand tensing and my teeth tentatively biting down onto my lip. 'You stupid boy,' I had thought. 'We would've stopped if you hadn't said anything.

You would've been spared.'

 _STOP. I'M BEGGING YOU TO STOP._ He had started screaming.

But they didn't stop. They didn't stop until every single jagged and heavy rock within a radius had been thrown into the bloodied depths of the well. They didn't stop until he was beaten within an inch of his life and wailing for mercy. We didn't stop until we were sure that he was no more than ten minutes away from death.

The shadows swallowed the stones before they made contact but the harsh, skin-piercing thuds reassured Facet and the rest that their efforts were fruitful. Marka had commanded everyone to participate in this mad, blind stoning - eager to finish him off as quickly as we could - and she would've had us torturing him into the night if it hadn't been for Sairen coming across the boy's well-hidden shovel.

I am still uncertain whether to be grateful that it was Facet who had snatched it from her hand.

_I can't-- breathe._

He was buried alive. Until his face was covered, until his screams were no longer coherent and until his lungs were slowly being filled with loose earth. And even then, we continued to pile the dirt, higher and higher until there was no voice, no trembling soil. And even then Facet continued to shovel fervently - even though the rest had already long stopped - burning up the euphoria of having brought another weaker foe down. I had my head hung low at this point, trying to occupy my thoughts with the stinging of my nails and the sight of jet black dirt wedged underneath them. As if doing so would erase whatever sin I committed with my burning guilt. As if doing so would make what came next any easier.

And yet I trembled when I heard it, echoing from its unseen fortress, the most painful, shattering sound ever to permeate the Games.

The cannon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like I was being tortured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to all who didn't lose faith in me and continued to write me words of encouragement despite the long waits in between. It is through your undying support that this chapter came to be and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I also dedicate this chapter to those who show their support in a more subtler way: through anon messages on my tumblr, the many kudos this fic has received, and rising number of hits from regular checking to see if there's an update. I love you all and am incredibly thankful for all of you who have read this far.
> 
> I promise you more frequent updates from now on and I intend to keep that promise because the interesting bit has only just begun.

It was midway through the night when I was woken up for guard duty.

Tom had been the one assigned before me. Through hazy curtains of sleep, I watched as his familiar lanky silhouette slowly formed at the base of my makeshift tent. He kept his gaze to the ground the entire time, wordlessly stoic and motionless to the wind. I then realised that this was the first time our shifts were allocated back-to-back. Up to this point, it had always been Sheer or Sairen directly before or after me. I wouldn’t say I was pleased with this setting but who was I to complain.

I winced.

The night hadn’t been kind to me.

Hastily, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes but even then, the nightmares of piling earth and suffocation remained flickering behind my eyelids. I drew in a sharp inhale to remind myself that I was here, above ground and safe, for now. But it was no use, the images had settled deep within me, heavy as lead and unmoving, with the dying screams of the tribute boy still ringing in my ears and the weight of the tainted rocks fresh in my sinews. I bit back another gasp as forcefully as I had restrained myself from tossing and turning the night before. I shouldn’t appear to be affected by this; Careers, Gamemakers, sponsors, there’s just too much to lose.

I have to stay strong.

Forcing my breath to remain steady, I reached forward and allowed the reassuring feel of cold metal to brush against my hand. My fingers flinched around the ridged handle of my axe. I tried to concentrate on other things. Things that didn’t involve yesterday’s deaths or further bloodshed. It was a frail and hopeless notion but I tried nonetheless. For the sake of my sanity.

The temperature had finally dropped, aided by the rain. I was still alive. A number of tributes still remained. I was still alive. The Fallen count last night had been a lonely two - one by our hands and the other, by nature’s.

There is a soft, watery tap and I’m snapped back to reality. A drop of rain had fallen onto the low-hanging tarp above my head, and I could see the trembling outlines of collected rainwater from the night before. I then wondered what would’ve happened if Sairen hadn’t found that spade. If Facet hadn’t buried him. Would he be wading in the rising water, desperately and barely keeping his head afloat? Or would the Gamemakers have been merciful enough to prolong the storm and drown him completely?

I stopped the unsettling train of thought at that point. There was nothing I could gain.

Without a glance to Tom, I crawled out of my pitiful tent - trusty axe in hand - and took my designated place in the middle of the sleeping Careers.

—-

My eyes were playing tricks on me.

Surely it had been the fatigue, along with the ominous way the hybrid trees swayed in the soundless wind. Or the unnerving way leaves fell in masses from mangled, stubby branches even though - upon closer inspection - they were still bright green, plump and very much fresh. I was dead certain that all these anomalies, paired with the primal fear bubbling deep within me, were to blame of what else I saw in the forest that night.

There was no way. There was absolutely no way…

Even now as I lay safely inside my water-cusped tent, the fear remained like poison in my bones. I tried to concentrate instead on Sai’s steady footsteps - made sluggish by sleep - but to no avail. The memory was fresh yet already distorted, fragmented to lessen the absolute _fear_ I had been feeling only moments before.

_Blood._

_Bright red wounds, opened flesh._

I steadied my heavy breathing against the sleeve of my jacket and closed my eyes so the cameras wouldn’t catch. But then I saw the maddened red eyes staring back at me and I had to force them open again.

Rain flickered onto my tent, missing the small pool in the middle by a few inches.

Abruptly, I tore out a handful of the spindly grass that grew beside my head. The roots dripped soil onto my neck and I focused on that, as I tried to erase the haunting memory from my mind. It was nothing, it was nothing but my hyperactive imagination and overworked brain, nothing but a vision brought on by guilt. Nothing else. It was nothing else because Sairen would’ve seen it as well. It was nothing, nothing at all.

But the rag of cloth hanging from its mangled limb had flapped in the wind. It made a sound. It made a sound and I heard the sound because the sound had emitted from whatever material the plastic-like cloth was made of... with a bright number 9 gleaming on its front.

It was hours before I was able to sleep. And even the sleep was an empty one, nothing but a mass of restlessness and cold, jet black.

—-

The next morning, I awoke to a horrible sound.

It hadn't been the heavy scuttling of half a dozen boots dangerously close to my ear. Nor was it the way Sheer had unknowingly – or knowingly, I could never be sure with the Career pack – kicked me in the side. Nor could it have been the ominously red sunlight peaking along the far-away horizon or the distorted tree branches fragmenting it like blood.

It had been a scream, a scream which still resounded through empty trees, as if maliciously intent on melding into the artificial forest. My vision fogged and focused and fogged again, and then I felt the heavy weight of the ground slam against side. I was struggling to sit up but my my entire right side had begun to pulsate with a numbing and excruciating ache. I gritted my teeth and pinched the muscle along my shoulder, only to find my wound from Cornucopia reopened and dripping wet with lymph. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. Another shrill scream erupted from the underbrush, brought forth by a sudden gust of particle-rich wind. All around me, chaos had unfolded. Tall, faraway trees swayed, everyone was scrambling to their feet. Something was coming. I turned towards the source of the scream. And found a knee-high wave of yellowing smoke approaching like a flood.

I reacted too late.

At first, I felt nothing, albeit submerged in the vision-obstructing fog. And then I felt the acrid smoke boring holes into my eyes and chemicals digging into my lungs. My windpipe flared, my throat tightened and my gaping mouth was further assaulted by the burning smoke.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t _see_. And whenever I tried to scramble to my feet, my head pounded like someone was driving nails into my temples. Blindly, and with the steady bark of a nearby tree, I pulled myself to my knees. Screams, everyone was screaming around me and I envied them because I could barely even breathe. I try to keep my head up, estimating that my neck was at least above the suffocating smoke. I choke and wheeze and barely a full inhale gets through but it’s enough, it’s enough for now. I tried to open my eyes again despite the gritty sting, and I could see the branches above me glimmering, as if full of silver supplies.

Then the ground buckled and a cannon goes off to greet the newly dead. I rub at my prickling face feverishly, desperately trying to wipe away the residue from the fumes. But I only succeeded in agitating it further because my jaw and cheek had begun to flare. I looked down to my fog-drenched hand and saw a blurring mess of blood and dirt.

And then black.

_No._

“Run!!” Facet bellowed from somewhere above and beyond me. The last time I heard him scream like that had been on the first day, right before he dropped me from the tree. “Sheer! I SAID RUN!”

“We can’t! Kye isn’t waking up!!” I blindly turned to the source of the desperate voice, cursing my eyes the entire time. I shouldn’t have looked down while the fog was thick, I shouldn’t have.

From somewhere close, I could hear Sheer’s choked grunts and the characteristic rustling of a jacket and grass. In my mind’s eye, I imagined her shaking him awake, but to no avail.

I tried to force myself to my feet but found myself back on the ground, plunged beneath the smoke. Wind was knocked out of my already airless lungs and from behind my aching eyelids, stars were exploding, the black world was spinning, and the ground underneath me had begun to tilt.

Something was wrong with my balance.

“Leave him!” Facet’s yell was practically a roar, but it was immediately dwarfed by another cannon. My heart skipped a beat. They’ll leave me if I don’t get up, I realised. They’ll leave me to die like how they’re doing to Kye and how they did to Loy. I clambered to my knees and choked in an inhale but gravity was still shifting and turning, like how my gut was doing right now.

“Leave him!” Facet repeated with rising urgency.

“ **He** is an asset,” was Marka’s resolute command, hauntingly calm amidst the chaos, like cold iron. I hear her hiss in pain. The smoke must be eating at her as well. “Check if he’s breathing. If he is, **bring him**.”

 _Asset_ … I shuddered at the term. Not just a piece in the games now, but we’re being sorted between asset and liability.

“Go get Chris,” Marka’s voice spoke up again but she was further away now, muffled by the rustling of grass and leaves and… bells?

I feel a hand on my arm, firm and determined. For a moment, I think it’s Facet and attempt to jerk free but then I hear him from a distance away, angry, pained grunts like a suffering bear. This causes me to falter and the grip I had on the… now I notice, slim wrist begins to loosen. I fall into a coughing fit and wince at the sharp needle-like aches in my tearducts. And then I realised that I had no tears. My eyes were dry and sandy and I had no tears to flush the toxic out.

 _What_ was in this smoke?

“We have to go. They’ll leave you.” I didn’t need him to speak, I knew who it was. I knew who was helping me.

And I _hated_ him for it.

“No they won’t,” I found my hoarse voice muttering. “I’m an asset.”

A pause. A cannon.

Had that been too cocky? I didn’t know and I didn’t care, all I wanted was to get out of this fog, but what was wrong with me, why was my balance so _thrown off_.

“What am _I_ then?”

Suddenly the hand that gripped so tightly to my wrist began to dig into my flesh, piercing into my skin like a thin blade of ice. I screamed but the smoke was suffocating me again and from a distance away, I could hear the chorus of bells rising up to a rapidly cascading and fluctuating crescendo. I didn’t understand, nothing was coherent and I was suddenly falling, falling helplessly into a black abyss of heat and ice and knives and…

Fire.

And then, _fire_ …

—-

It felt like I was being tortured. As if someone had grabbed a hold of my head and was holding me underwater and no matter how much I struggled to break free, the vice-like grip never faltered. And just as I was about to succumb to whatever afterlife there was and just as I was about to inhale that lungful of water that would secure my fate and bring me to Luke, my head was then pulled above sea-level and that resolute, dying breath became the inhale that would keep me alive. And then I’m plunged into deep waters once more.

This time there is no comforting hand, no tender words whispered by overseeing beings of light. There is nothing but pain, raw and white and _bloody_ , and the overhanging curtain of nausea that had no intention of leaving.

I spent the entirety of that long, excruciating moment phasing between living and dying, with nothing to reassure me but the haunting sound of my own throbbing heart. And the deep, spiralling darkness.

—-

When I resurface, my face is pressed against warm grass and my vision nothing but black. Ethereal bells still tolled within my ears but the ringing was starting to subside. But fading disembodied sounds was not strong enough of a prospect to reassure me of the horrifying realisation that I couldn’t move my body. Even though I could feel the heat of a campfire behind me and the soft earth beneath my fingertips, I had been rendered motionless. Was I dead? Had I died and not realised it yet and I was still stuck in my body? That wasn’t possible, my heart was still beating. But what if I was only imagining my heart beating? And what of my eyes, why couldn’t I see? I winced as a whirlwind of sounds suddenly assaulted me all at once, threatening to drown me like the deep black sea I had barely escaped from.

“I can’t believe that happened,” said a voice.

It echoed and sounded so far away, resonating into my very being.

“Sairen, of all times to-… and of all _people_ t…”

The voice tapered off to a soft gurgle as the angry buzzing of a million tracker jackers began to fill my head. A heavy wave of unease washed over me as I imagined them, stingers ready, poised to embed venom-tipped needles into my skull. I would scream if I could but I couldn’t, caged by my own unresponsive body.

The conversation continued regardless of the drone of the swarm. I strained to listen in hopes that changing my focus would chase the insects away.

It didn’t.

“…ook, we _saw_ … moss from th—-.”

“—ou could test- …f all people, _him_?”

Suddenly, a loud crunching overwhelmed the buzzing, the echoing, the entire exchange. It sounded like bones being broken between the teeth of wild dogs or bloodied mouths dragging along splintering tree bark, and all of these mental images began to flood my mind’s eye like a perverse display of everything grotesque and unnatural that ever was in the world and I was locked here, trapped and maddening, because I had as much control of these visions as I did of my body. But beneath all this, the soft gurgling and murmurings of whatever conversation there was continued, unhindered by the obscuring veils of pure _sound_ and agony I was being subjected to.

“… I- … he-…”

I could no longer make out the words they were saying, the voices had descended many octaves lower, growing more and more distorted as they did.

There was more rustling, more crunching, much louder now. The throbbing of my head had increased in speed and intensity, sending wave after wave of pain pulsating down my spine, the whole while accompanied by the inhumane sounds echoing from all corners of the forest.

This was too much to bear. Screams had joined the hellish chorus, dying screams, screams from the bloodbath. Nyssa’s screams, Liam’s screams. I was being suffocated, slowly and gradually; I couldn’t even feel my chest or heartbeat any more and all these _sounds_ —

But just as I was about to give in to the crescendo of screams, it all shattered.

The bells, the crunching, everything…

As if the torture had been made of nothing but glass.

And the glass had contained nothing but more darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom had a gaze that felt too open and sincere to be permitted in a place like the Hunger Games. A part of me wondered whether he was aware that all but one of us was destined to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who never gave up.

It had been the birdcall that guided me back.

It reached deep into my darkness, a radiant light in the form of a bird Liam and I used to point to with awe when we were still children. Its outstretched wings sliced through the abyss with such clarity, it burned through the night like a rising beacon. There I was, at the bottom of it all, with only my thoughts and crumbling promises to keep me company. And as I cradled my frayed skin and throbbing wounds, I saw it approaching me like an eagle about to attack. And heavy as I was like a corpse sinking deep into the sea, I gathered what strength I could... and with it, tightened my resolute grip onto its wings.

As it led me towards freedom.

And into another cage.

—

I drew in deep, desperate breaths, my eardrums assaulted with the thunder of a thousand falling trees. My head was throbbing and everything was a flurry of colour, the line between ground and sky, no longer tangible. I could feel the distinctive burn of daylight on my face and found myself reaching towards it like a dying man to water. A muffled cry pierced the silence from an unfathomable distance away, accompanied by a chorus of deafening voices whose words I could not understand. I watched in horror as ominous shadows began to peel themselves away from the shifting colour mosaic, rapidly swarming around me with alarming speeds.

The haze in my mind was still incredibly thick. There was sound, but I was unable to comprehend the meaning behind those sounds, as if the spectres above me were speaking an entirely different language. Through the dark fog, I could make out the menacing glints of silver weaponry which could also very well be the stars in the sky.

My centre of gravity shifted. Against my will, I was moved left, then right, and in a moment, the sun was gone and the world was pitch black. Panicked, my limbs struggled to return but an unbearable weight had slammed itself onto my chest. It knocked the breath out of my lungs. When I tried to inhale, all I could do was wheeze. I tried to lash out, defending myself, but my flailing arms grasped nothing but air.

“He’s alive. What do we do? He’s  _alive_.”

Words now.

“Impossible! I checked for a pulse, he should be dead.”

“Then that cannon…”

“Probably some other tribute.”

“Damn.”

This exchange spilled out of these shadows with surreal coherence, stinging me as icily as the mounting fear in my chest. Their venom was palpable, and the pressure they had on my ribcage only intensified. My body revolted from the pain. Each second brought with it a fragment of weaning consciousness, and with each moment that passed, I was made more and more aware of how much _pain_ my body was in.

But this exchange tore my attention away from my bodily aches, because the voices – the Careers – were  _disappointed_ that I was alive.

I swallowed as discreetly as I could, but it triggered a coughing fit I could not stop.

“Can you shut. Him. Up, Marka will hear.”

“How?” one of the voices hissed. “If we smother him now another cannon would sound."

“It could’ve been someone else.”

“’ _It could’ve been someone else’_ how stupid do you think she is?” another mocked. I winced at its tone.

“What’s going on back there?” came a familiar drawl and for the first time in my life, I was relieved to hear Marka’s condescending tone. 

The shadows fell into silence.

Through my fragmented consciousness, sounds and sensations hovered towards me like moths to a light. The crackling of a campfire. A hand over my throat. The shuddering throb of my heart against my ribs.

The absent birdcall. 

After what seemed like an unimaginable amount of time, there came a sigh from the cluster of voices above me. It was soon followed by loud grunts and the rustling of leaves. A cry resounded through the clearing. “He’s alive, he’s  _alive_ , Marka. He’s awake!” the voice exclaimed, taking on a guise of false joy.

“What?” Marka’s voice again. Disbelieving. Closer. 

“It’s true, he’s alive, but we may soon lose him!”

And before I could retort, a blow to my head plunged me into darkness. Without sensation, without sound.

And with only mounting uncertainty as I melted into unconsciousness.

Because the owner of the voice that had wanted me dead belonged to none other than Tom.

—

“Spitfire.”

I groaned.

“Hey, Spitfire,” Facet persisted, piercing through the thick veil of sleep. 

A calloused hand found itself on my side, vigorously shaking me out for good measure. I cried in pain before I could stop myself and my shaky arm jolted forward to pinch away the ache from my shoulder. My nails dug deep around the perimeter of solid, swollen bandages. Was it broken? Wounded? I could not be sure.

“Good morning, Chris.”

I bit back the snarky remark burning on my tongue and tried opening my eyes. Alarmed, I blinked again.

I could barely see a thing.

“What time is it?” I rasped, my own voice foreign to me. The insides of my throat stung as if I had swallowed a bottle of vinegar.

“Early enough, you’ve been asleep for almost a day,” he remarked and without effort, pulled me into a sitting position. The top half of my body swayed, and I felt my bruises brushing against something incredibly rough. I groaned.

“Now, we don’t have much time,” Facet declared. “I do not want to pretend to be civil towards you any more than you do.”

“Just get to the point, Facet,” I snapped bitterly. From the blackness in front of me, I could hear his muffled snort. My head started moving now on its own accord, round and round and round. Only after a few moments of this did I realise that Facet was undoing some wrappings from my head. A blindfold? Bandages?

“What’s the last thing you remember, Spitfire?”

I found that an odd question to ask. Holding my tongue about the ethereal conversation I had overheard, I recounted, “When our camp started falling apart.”

“Convenient,” he remarked, almost sounding impressed. “So you remember nothing after that?”

“I remembered Tom helping me out?”

“Ah yes,  _Tom_ , that conniving bastard,” Facet’s voice dropped an octave at the mention of his name.  His hands continued their movements and with a rustle, the wrappings fell away. The warm glow of dawn spilled through my darkness, first in slivers, then all at once. I winced.

“He tried to kill us, you know,” he muttered under his breath.

My shock must have shown because it was then that the District 1 boy doubled over in laughter. I was all the more confused now. I thought they were working together to kill me? Was Facet trying to trick me?

“Make up your mind, Spitfire, hate him or love him,” he snorted. I was still adjusting to the light but from what little of his blurry features I could make out, he seemed almost _disgusted_ with me. “You push him away like a dirty stray but when someone else takes a swing, he’s suddenly sweet virgin Tom.”

Without warning, I was shoved back down, my head painfully colliding with the hard ground beneath me. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the discarded makeshift bandages at my side. Who could have taken the time to--?

“Get your act together, Chris,” Facet spat in my direction. “You’re that  _fire from District 7_  Marka wanted so bad.” That awful name rubbed the salt further into my wounds.

“And what does that have to do with anything,  _asshole_ ,” I muttered, just about reaching my limits with his tireless insults. I shoved him away with my good arm and grabbed a firm hold of the tree beside us, pulling myself up. Almost immediately, fatigue shot through my knees but I kept myself resolutely upright, glaring through the cold sting of nausea assaulting my temples. 

Ever pretentious, Facet rose to his feet as well. I was disappointed to find him an inch or so taller than me. Regardless, I stood my ground. “So you do have a spine,” he smirked, a glint in his eye.

“There’s a something we in District 7 call people like you,” I spat. “You--"

“Chris, you’re awake?” came a voice from somewhere to my far right. I recognised it immediately as Kye’s and tore my eyes away from the cocky blonde in front of me to regard the most tolerable member of our Career pack.

But the words died on my lips as soon as I noticed his state.

Across the rolled-up sleeping bags, Kye’s back was perched up against the base of a tree, one hand busying itself in untangling the knots from a rope net, and the other… no longer there. His left sleeve swayed hollowly as he moved, the incline of his shoulder ending abruptly like a hesitant sentence. The thick ropes splayed across his lap obstructed my view of his folded legs but I sincerely hoped – for his sake – they were both still intact.

What exactly happened to him?

“I know what you’re thinking, Chris,” he muttered in an attempt to reassure me. “It just looks bad, I swear.” 

I bit my tongue, at a loss for words. I could practically feel Facet’s smirk burning on the back of my neck.

“Wha- What happe—" 

“Chris, everyone else is out hunting,” Kye cut me off, one bright green eye narrowing into a glare. The other remained hidden underneath layers of identical dirty green bandages. “Facet came back to get you. They shouldn’t be too far, you may want to catch up.” His pensive expression was holding back a myriad of emotions but one rang clear: hate. Kye did not want my pity. He was no longer my ‘friend’.

I diverted my gaze back to Facet, who – with that disgustingly knowing look of his – handed me my axe by its silver handle.

“Let’s go, Spitfire.”

I hated myself for complying with anything Facet says, but accepted my weapon without a word.

—

Another day passed, another day spent wading through the woods. It felt like weeks since we last spotted another human being and the agitation from prolonged exposure was beginning to eat at us once more. I had bit my tongue the entirety of last night when we returned to camp empty-handed. As much as I hated to admit it, I had resigned to accepting the fact that there were yet many things I did not know and did not understand about the Careers. Kye’s adverse reaction to me had raised many alarms and I couldn’t help but try to piece together what exactly had happened to his arm.

After many moments of walking, we regrouped and continued the last stretch in a pack. Malachite and I took the lead and said nothing to each other. I had resorted to picking up arbitrary pieces of broken branches, only to toss them aside several paces later. It was a bizarre act and only succeeded in refurbishing the arena somewhat, but it kept my nerves calm.

Though this did nothing to hinder my shock from the sight that lay ahead.

We had passed by this area many times before. It was one of the few rare spots which had enough space between the thick trees and hill-like roots for us to set up camp.

But now where there was once an empty clearing was now a stagnant pool of blood.

Mangled, chewed-up limbs lay scattered across the coagulating floor. Blades of grass stood tall above them like watchtowers over a claret village. I couldn’t feel my throat, I had lost all control of my chest. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak. There sheer amount of blood and gore in the clearing was horrifyingly ample, more than could’ve come out of one human being…

And yet the cannons hadn’t sounded yet.

Was this an illusion then?

The forest was silent. The full bodies weren’t even here, all that was tangible and present was a foot here, a couple of fingers there, and a shiny, dark piece of meat I suspected was an organ sprawled beside the base of a tree.

There was a loud retch and Sheer was emptying her meagre lunch ration onto the forest floor. She clutched so shakingly at her sides as if it had been her stomach that had been clawed out and was now spread across the ground. She straightened up, eyes red and strings of spit dangling from her hair. Ungraceful as it was, I couldn’t blame her. After all, how many occasions would she have had to see something like this? For me, the sight of entrails - though not at this scale - was not uncommon in the markets back home, with intestines strung up like prizes beside empty, hollowed-out corpses of goats almost as emaciated as their owners.

It was unsettling how composed I was compared to the rest, and despite the bubbling fear that was so keen on rooting me to the spot, I saw this as my chance for redemption in the eyes of the Careers – as temporary as it may be – and began to take tentative steps forwards to observe the scene in more detail.

My boots sloshed with each step, as if I was walking upon freshly-rained earth.

I tried not to look down.

And that was when I heard it, the pitiful groan I had heard only days ago: the sound of a dying tribute. Another sound followed, a different voice this time, and I realised that there were more than one.

A quick turn around and there they were, their bodies shrouded by the shadows of the shrubbery and, not unlike Kye, only half-there. There was the sick sound of wet cloth – or was it flesh? – shifting as I approached, and with each step that brought me closer, more and more light eagerly illuminated the sight before me.

They were probably from the same district, judging from how near-identical they were, pale-skinned and burnt with dark, mousy hair. One held tightly onto the other, a stub of an arm draped protectively over the other’s crudely-bandaged neck, and the lower half of their bodies scattered across on the other side of the clearing.

I swallowed.

Who– What could’ve possibly done this? And whatever it was, was it still nearby? Was it the same animal that got to Kye? Was it even an animal in the first place?

One of the tributes was staring blankly up towards the canopy, his mouth unnervingly agape and trembling, while the other – a small girl – looked straight at me as I slowly approached. Her gaze hid a tornado of thoughts that would never be voiced and her trembling lips moved but only the barest of whispers escaped. I reached out a hand towards her to… comfort? To end her suffering?

Blind to my intentions, she did not move, she didn’t even flinch, her gaze now wavering away from me and to something that lay past my shoulder.

I followed her gaze but there were only trees.

In their final moments, the two said nothing. They could only say nothing, resigning to their fates.

Before settling completely still.

Sending two cannons screaming into the leaves.

\---

Tom spoke to me for the first time in days that night. 

We were on our three-hourly rotations, this time my shift being immediately after his. I had arose from my sleeping bag, the hairs on the back of my neck stiffening to the cold as I slid out of the thermal fabric. Adjusting to the dim light, I had gazed upwards to the large moon and then, to the lonely silhouette with curly hair a small distance away. Tom was perched on a boulder, cautiously holding onto what looked like a spear in his hands, the points of which glinted in the moonlight. Even beneath the layers of jackets he piled on to keep out the cold, there still remained the same willowy aura he gave out the first night I met him. 

I tried to shake away whatever it was I was feeling, reminding myself that it was him that had wanted me dead. But how sure was I of that now?

Readying myself for the night, I picked up my axe from where I had left it and gradually began to walk towards him.

He barely turned around as he heard me approach. “Good evening, Chris,” Tom greeted, shoulders relaxing as he was finally able to lower his weapon.

“Evening,” I murmured chastely, tossing my axe blade-first into the soft earth and climbing onto the boulder myself. 

Tom did not move despite my presence beside him and instead threw down his weapon as well, intending to have it pierce the ground like mine had. Sadly, he hadn’t put much strength into it and the blade tip skidded across the grass, his spear bouncing a few paces away before coming to a rest beneath some bushes. I could hear him let out an exasperated sigh.

Unsure of what to say, I watched as he drew up his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees.

I couldn’t blame him for his disposition. The sight from earlier that day still burned in my mind’s eye, a reoccurring nightmare I was not able to erase even in sleep. I traced a finger over a hairline crack in the boulder, hoping Tom would leave soon.

“Chris,” he spoke instead, his voice a low murmur.

“Yes, Tom?” I snapped.

“I had been meaning to ask you,” he began. I watched as his bandaged fingers fidget with the material of his trousers. “What do you think happened to those children?”

My shoulders tensed. So the same thoughts had plagued him as well during his shift. I felt almost sympathetic.

No, I couldn’t let myself think this way.

I wanted to remind myself not to let my guard down. I wanted to tell myself that all this was one big act and he was lying through his teeth. I wanted to believe that he was behind all this and the reason why we were in this living hell of an arena.

But he wasn’t.

At least not to the last accusation. Whatever agenda he may have, being a Career from the Peacekeeper District, he could not have possibly known what would happen to us the moment we were raised up on our platforms at Cornucopia. Not even Marka had known what to make out of the grotesque scene we were forced to watch in that clearing. She had simply ordered us to march back to camp. I didn’t know whether she would execute her cannibalism-bait plan like she had with Loy’s corpse, but from the look she had in her eyes in that moment of time, it wouldn’t be any time soon.

The events today had shaken all of us, Tom’s vulnerability right now was proof of that. I could practically feel Liam watching me from the flickering television screen back home and was sure he would disapprove if I were to shoot a snarky remark at Tom while he was in this state.

I sighed and gritted my teeth, trying my best to remain civil. “I have no idea,” was my reply.

“I guess that makes the both of us,” he sounded almost relieved.

Silence fell between us and I wondered why Tom hadn’t immediately gone back to his sleeping bag. He didn’t usually stay past his shift to speak to the Career taking over his post. Why the sudden change?

“How are your burns?” I was eager to change the subject. Perhaps taking his mind off things would help him get to sleep.

“Getting better,” Tom replied with relative ease. He did cast me a questioning glance when I had asked, but the soft way with which he answered hinted that he may have been trying to speak to me for some time now. I bit my lip. “They’re healing well with the ointment. Thank you for asking, Chris.”

I nodded in response.

“How is your shoulder?” he seemed to have thought it was his turn to ask a question now.

“Hurts like hell,” I deadpanned, to which he allowed himself a small chuckle. “Don’t laugh, it does.” I couldn’t help but notice that was the first time I had heard him laugh since that night on the roof. 

“Sorry, Chris, please don’t misunderstand,” Tom apologised. ”It was the way you said it.” And he was looking at me now, with those familiar eyes that reminded me of the rain. In the fluorescent lights on the rooftop, they had looked grey, but now I saw that they had a blue tinge to them. I faltered. Tom had a gaze that felt too open and sincere to be permitted in a place like the Hunger Games. A part of me wondered whether he was aware that all but one of us was destined to die.

“It’s…” Clearing my throat, I reached for my axe. “It’s getting late, you should get some sleep.”

“You’re right,” was his reply as he slid off the boulder to retrieve his spear. “’Felsic would kill me if I fell asleep during training’, right?” The recollection his sentence brought caused something inside me to shift, and I looked down to where he stood at the base of the rock. Tom offered me a small, tentative wave, a ghost of a smile edging at his lips. I saw his fingers fidgeting with the spear again. He looked almost wary of how I would react.

I looked down at the axe in my hands, a reminder that it had been him who had brought it to me and given me a purpose in the Career pack. With my sleeve, I brushed away the clumps of dirt from my blade.

“Yeah,” I returned with a chaste wave of my own, and that seemed to have been enough for Tom, who then began to slowly make his way back to camp.

Leaving me alone to my thoughts and conflicting emotions.


End file.
